The Heart of a Heroine
by Jevryn's Destiny
Summary: Jevryn Haldaer (pronounced JAEV-wren Hal-DAYER) was cast out of her Elven home centuries ago. Her heart is bitter towards her people and she seeks revenge for herself. To the elves, she is a lost soul, well, to all but one. Their pasts are entertwined, but terribly so. Yet, together, could they save Middle Earth? Clean and productive reviews please.
1. Chapter 1

"Caught Up"

The glint of the sun gleamed on my slender sword as I drew it from it's scabbard.

The slave trader spread his arms threateningly, an impish grin on his face. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, pointy-ear."

Frustrated, I looked at the his companions, all thirty of them, who formed a half-circle besides their master, cornering me against the barred wagon. Seeing no other escape and inwardly cursing my idiocy in allowing myself to be trapped like this, I sheathed my sword in one swift motion and held up my hands.

Instantly, the circle tightened and my sword, knife, bow, and quiver were ripped from me and I was shoved into the wagon, falling into the hay. Behind me the door swung shut and was locked from the outside with a sharp click.  
Leaping up, I was at the door in a flash, staring out through the bars with growing dread in my heart as I realized there was nothing I could do. Ignoring the jeering calls of the slaver traders at my pitiful attempt to escape, I settled into the back corner of the cage, nearest the door.  
Leaning my hooded head back against the bars, I thought of what Quinn would've thought of my rather embarrassing capture.

(Number_ of her age) years of not being caught, not even being thrown into a town jail for pilfering bread, and now I'm being carted off to work in the slave mines._

My late mentor would've laughed, probably knowing I could get out and wait for my return. Once I got back, I would have to endure days of mocking, immediately followed by a detailed demonstration on how not to be captured by slave drivers.

My lips twitched in a half-smile. Quinn's advice would be extremely valuable in this case. Unfortunately, one cannot expect humans to live as long as elves. We must linger on, a mere presence in the world.

Sighing quietly, I brought myself back to the issue at hand.  
I could escape, but there was the matter of my weapons to think about. All of Elvish make, they had been given to me the day I was cast out of Eryn Lasgalen. If you ask me, that was the elves' consolation gift, "we're throwing out a young elfling into the wilderness never to return, but we have properly supplied her, Nienna, lady of mercy, we have appeased you."

Ai! The injustice of it all...'nay, now is not the time.' Mentally, I quoted Quinn, something I had been doing a lot after his death and gradually my anger simmered down.

Inhaling, I considered my options. My weapons have never been handled by someone other than me or Quinn, since I have avoided all forms of life for so many years. Honestly, I was more than a little nervous about having them away from me. More to the point, I didn't even know where they are!  
Rising, I peered through the bars. Sure enough, in the wake of my wagon was another, loaded with countless weapons and on top glimmered my silver sword. I gritted my teeth and turned, beginning to pace my cage. As my boot hit the hay-covered wood floor, a wrenching jerk signaled the start of the journey. With a whinny from the cart horses, we set off at a walk.

Wrapping my hands around two of the bars, I tried to look at the bright side of things, which had never been one of my strong points. For most of my life as a ranger, I'd had Quinn at my side to add some humor to whatever depressingly hopeless situation we were in.

I was in the last wagon, which means I was closest to the weapons. That would make the grab-and-go mission I was plotting in my head much easier.  
Another good point, I was in the cart alone, which differed from all of the wagons ahead of me. They were packed with prisoners, and only when the last one was absolutely bursting, they would fill up another. It seemed I was the slave driver's final wagon. If I was in the cart alone and I made an attempt to flee, I wouldn't have to worry about anyone but myself and no one would get in the way besides the guards, obviously.  
If I were to get out, I would be much faster than the guards walking besides my cage. I could overtake them, but there were archers perched on top of several of the wagons.

The slavers were obviously old hands at this. Sitting down in the center of the dusty hay, I deemed my current plan as unrealistic- I was going to wait until they'd opened the door for some reason, knock out the guards and loot them for keys, and if there was one, unlock the weapon cart and run, if not, steal a guard's sword and break the lock. If I had been extremely lucky, I would've sliced one of the cart horses free from its harness and galloped away. But since it was unlikely they'd open the door for any reason aside from throwing in new prisoners, the plan was useless.  
There was also a high possibility the archers would've hit me, and though I would've taken that risk to be free, I wouldn't have made it far with an arrow in my shoulder.

So I resolved to escape once we reached our destination and they had to let us out. Thinking that through, I soon realized that that plan was worse than the previous. No doubt wherever we were heading was crawling with slave drivers. I had to leave now. But how?

Wrapping my black cloak around myself, I huddled against the bars of the cage once again, closing my eyes. The rocking pace of the plodding horses lulled me into the land of sleep.

An undefinable period of time later, I awoke to the sounds of a struggle and faintly comprehended that the wagon had ceased moving. Standing blearily and tripping over my own feet, I managed to regain my bearings enough to witness the fight outside my cage.

What I saw jolted me awake. A family of humans, adorned in ragged clothes of poor farmers, were thrashing around in the grasp of the guards.  
The oldest, a man with a scraggly grey beard and desperate green eyes saw me and shouted. "Help us, stranger!"

I narrowed my eyes from under my hood. It was apparent he did not know I was an elf; if he did, he'd be asking me to cast some sort of spell to send them back to their farm. Humans have some warped ideas when it comes to my kind.

_By the Valar, how could I help you while I'm locked in the same cage you're going to be thrown into? _I dared not say that aloud. My accent would be a dead giveaway. And mentioning the Valar, the Powers the elves believe in, would be a bit of a no-brainer.

A child with golden hair screamed shrilly and fought in the arms of her captor. Her mother kicked at the slaver holding her daughter and he gave a hoarse shout of pain and released her. For a second, I thought they would get away, but the slaver was on them again in the blink of an eye.  
The scuffle sent clouds of dust and grit flying, creating good cover for my own getaway. I prayed they would open the door to fling the family in before the air cleared.

Luckily, they did. Fumbling for the lock, one of them swung open the door and the rest began to muscle the unfortunate family into the opening.  
Not a moment wasted and, not believing my luck, I pounced, shoving the family and guards out of the way and sprinted towards the weapon-laden wagon.

Yells of indignation and the scraping of swords being drawn behind me quickened my pace, a harsh reminder of how fast I needed to get this done.  
I swung up on the bars of the wagon, shielding myself from arrows, and made the realization that I had nothing to release the lock with. With arrows whistling around me, I ducked down, self-preserving instincts kicking in.  
Cold steel pressed against my neck announced that he guards had reached me. Flinching away, I plunged my arm through the bars of the cage and grabbed the first item my fingers touched. It was the sheath of my knife and thankfully, the knife was inside.

Figuring I had about two seconds before the first sword cut off my head, I rolled away, springing to my feet a couple yards away from the wagon. The knife gleamed wickedly in my hand, as if it somehow knew that it's thirst for blood would be quenched.

Five guards approached me, their own swords polished and ready for action.  
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hoped the family had enough sense to run while the guards were distracted, but that thought was soon eliminated as the rush of battle took over.

My hood fell back, revealing my slanted ears and fine-boned Elvish features. I spat at the guards and spoke in Sindarin, "Filth! Watch and see your fate from the man before you as I strike you all down!"

The slavers, not understanding, were completely oblivious to my insult. One stepped forward with an ugly sneer. "Speak your pretty words all you want, elf. They are meaningless to us."

Switching to the common tongue, I replied fiercely. "Not when they speak your future, human, and when that future holds the bite of my knife, you'll wish you'd paid more attention." Then, I spun into action, leaping forward and bringing the hilt of my knife across his jaw, splintering the bone, and in the backstroke, slitting his throat.

The man dropped to the earth with nary a sound. The other men watched him fall just as I had predicted; terror started to twist their faces.  
Smirking in satisfaction, I made quick work of the other guards. There is no mortal who can keep up with the sword of an elf.

Swiftly grabbing the key from the belt on the body of one of the guards, I unlocked the wagon door and snatched the rest of my weapons, dashing towards the cover of the trees.  
Once safe into a small grove deep into the leafy forest, I dropped down, leaning against the gnarled stump of a tree. Throwing my weapons next to me, I whispered to myself. "I told you I could do it, Quinn."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I don't really have a clear visual of Eryn Lasgalen in my mind, so I apologize if it's a bit unclear where she is in that part. After further research, it's still unclear to me if the pre-The Hobbit Mirkwood is dark and gloomy and such. Apparently the coming of Men made them so dreary, but it's obvious we already have human involvement here. (Who can go wrong with elves and nature, right?)  
So I'm writing it like it's not, but if anyone has a clearer idea of what it looks like, please feel free to leave a comment!**

An owl hooted its eerie cry, the sound echoing through the shadowy trees.  
I barely glanced up, continuing on my way through the forest. The hours since my escape from the slave wagons had slipped by without my notice and it was now night.

I recalled bones being sliced by my knife as if they were melting butter. Screams of agony as men clung to life amidst roaring pain. The family of farmers bolting off with frightened glances in my direction. Another evil reputation made in a new town.

Until the haze of battle fury had cleared from my mind, I did not know I had been wounded. A sneaky trick of one man left a shallow slash on my upper arm where my bracers didn't cover it. I had bandaged it with a strip of white cloth which was now soaked crimson red. Bruises were the evidence of sword hilts and the occasional armored fist ramming into me.  
But that was just another day, now fading into my bank of memories of days just like it, days torn with slaughter.

The inky blackness of the sky enveloped me, in my own clothes of shadow. Every garment I wore was black or deep sapphire, which allowed me to melt into the darkness.  
They do not call me Shadowed One for nothing.

That is my name, Jevryn Haldaer. At a young age, my race sent me out of my home, a luscious and beautiful forest the humans call Greenwood, but we call Eryn Lasgalen. I loved that forest, not as much the city as the grand old trees.

Soaring high above my head, in the night, they would appear as if I climbed to the very top, where the pine needles brushed the stars, I would somehow fly away...

I soon learned to love other forests. Middle Earth became my home and the night became my friend.

I learned how to survive, how to truly live. There hasn't been a roof over my head for nigh on fifty years, and that's the way it's meant to be. The way I was forced to live by the elves.

And then I met Quinn.  
The grizzled old ranger knew every trick in the book, meeting every challenge with a bold heart, sly mind and a quick wit. He was like a father to me, but of course I'd never told him that.

Smiling to myself, I tilted my head back to take in the full beauty of the moon through a break in the foliage. Moonlight splashed on my high, prominent cheekbones and brightened the whites around my deep brown eyes. My gently waved dark brown hair fell down my back, but was usually kept tucked into my hood and was kept back with the twisting of two pieces of hair on either side of my head.

The moon was a marble-like white, as usual. It never changed. I could always count on it. Unlike some.

My mood darkened, I set my jaw and pulled my hood up over my head, trudging on.

Eventually, my tired body gave into its weariness and I found myself a nice hollow in the roots of a tree to climb in. Drawing my cloak over myself, I unsheathed my knife, holding it surreptitiously under my cloak to greet anyone- or anything -that should make the unwise decision to disturb me.  
Relaxing, I let my eyes close and the world of dreams overtake me.

_It was a foggy dawn in a glorious forest. The fog seeped through the trees, swirling through the emerald-green grass carelessly. The sun was just beginning its ascent to its place in the rosy sky. The air was mildly warm, and when it touched you, brought the feeling of a cool, welcoming day to come. _

_A young elf strode through the forest, her dark brown hair rippling freely down her back. Even now she was dressed in dark hues; a dress sewn with deep blues and purples. Her pace was quick, almost anxious. Her hands clenched, long nails digging into her palm._

_In time, she came upon a city so in tune with nature it could've been grown out of the earth. The craftsmanship goes far beyond anything humans could create- they would have neither the patience, nor the skill._

_She ignored the trilling birds and the wondrous town and walks on. The town faded into the trees again, and the trees themselves began to change into Beech trees around the path the elf was on. The rush of water became clear and straight on was a sturdy bridge across a frothing river. _

_Gathering up her skirts, she stepped across it and faced a tree-covered slope with a deep cave that was directly across from the bridge like a dent in the mountain._

_The elf gazed at it, apprehension and more than a little anger in her eyes. A dagger emerged from the folds of her skirts, her hand gripping the hilt with so much force, her knuckles were white. Then she approached the cave, chin high. _

_The magic gate swung open for her and she was met with two guards, who stared at her with a suspicious gleam in their eyes before guiding her through the underground passageways. _

_The hall of the king was regal, befitting one of his rank, but the air was not fresh and carefree, like it was in the forest, in the hall, mistrust boiled and fury brewed. _

_The king had straight, long flaxen-blond hair with a crown of leaves and berries atop it. He was wearing a scarlet robe with many shades of brown. His eyes were a grey-blue and locked on the young elf maid the moment she entered his presence. He lounged on a wood-carven throne with guards on his left, his son on his right. _

_His son had inherited his father's flowing tresses and blue eyes, though his were brighter, clearer, the color of the afternoon sky. He had small braids in his hair, each tucked behind his pointed ears to keep hair out of his face, as was the fashion with Elven warriors. His face possessed high, arcing cheekbones that gave him a noble appearance. He was wearing a light-blue long tunic, slim, grey-brown boots and a twisting of silver served as a crown, resting on his brow._

_The elf maid refused to look at either, instead fixing her eyes on a space between them. _

_The Elfking rose, a sudden fire in his gaze. "Jevryn Haldaer." His voice commanded attention and echoed through his hall._

_Jevryn glared at him, silent and unbowed. _

_The king stepped down from his throne, fingers trailing along the sides. "Word has spread of you, Haldaer. Of the way you manipulate shadows, of your...attitude towards our kind."_

_Her deep brown eyes flashing with the burning power of pulsing lava, Jevryn spoke in Sindarin, voice tight with barely controlled anger. "That is not my name."_

The king arched a slender eyebrow. "Haldaer? Shadowed One? On the _contrary, I believe it fits you." He raised his voice. "The parents of this young elf have been in our prison for a year as of today. There they will remain." Narrowing his eyes threateningly at Jevryn, he added, "We do not tolerate those who would betray their own people for one so evil and wretched. And with an act of such horror." He cast a glance at his son, who was staring at his feet, sorrow in his eyes. His father's similarly blue gaze wondered what could ail him, and then returned to the matter at hand._

_"He was controlling them! They could not fight him!" Jevryn's voice rang forth, challenging the king's. "You help so many others! Why not those who need your aid most? Those who are enslaved to your greatest enemy-"  
"Silence! They do not deserve rescuing!" The king snapped, his robes whisking as he turned on her. "Jevryn Haldaer, today we send you from this land. The blood that runs in your veins is traitorous and shadows have clouded your mind. You do not belong here." _

_A pair of elves stepped out from amongst the columns on the sides of the hall and handed Jevryn a sword, a knife, a longbow fashioned of ebony wood, and a quiver full of black-fletched arrows. _

_She snatched the weapons from them and in return, handed them the dagger that was hidden in her skirts. _

_A shocked silence followed. "What plan did your parents bid you to carry out before you were banished, Haldaer?" The Elfking asked, voice shaking with rage. "Would you murder my son, your future king?" He shook his head. "Such shame you have brought to your people."_

_"Do you not understand that you, my people, have done nothing for me?" Jevryn questioned quietly. "My parents were heartless, they did not love me. Do not worry, I do not ask for pity, I do not want any. Besides, you have none to give. However, regardless if they loved me, I will fight for them." Her tone was bitter, and her voice trembled. "And now you, who would be my second family, throw me out of the only place I've known." She paused, "You are correct in saying I don't belong here. Never have I felt as though Eryn Lasgalen was a place I could be safe, never has it been home to me."_

_"Then this should be easy for you." The king's voice was like steel, cold and unbending. "You will never hurt the elves again, Haldaer. You will never return to Eryn Lasgalen."_

_Never return to Eryn Lasgalen. Never return to Eryn Lasgalen_.

My eyes shot open. "N-never..." The echoes of my dream sounded in my head. For a moment, I was frozen in grief, then annoyance swept the emotion away.

Pushing myself up, I sheathed my knife and stretched my cold, aching muscles.

That memory haunted me. As much as leaving my homeland set me free, it chained me, never letting my forget.

Pointless. It was pointless. There was nothing I could do to change it. And I hated dwelling on thoughts that were meaningless.

I found a cold stream, running with fresh mountain water and washed my face in it, fighting my mental battle over not thinking about the dream and trying to nitpick it to see if there was a way I could get my rightful vengeance.

I thought about the prince's face and wondered for the hundredth time why he was mourning. What was his name, Legolas? The valiant prince, always craving the center of attention- and always receiving it. As always, I reached the same conclusion: He was pouting because he wasn't being doted upon.  
Straightening my back, I unslung my longbow from my shoulder and had the thought that I had been pondering since the first dream I'd had; could I murder the prince?

Examining the fine wood grain in the bow, I contemplated. I wasn't the best shot out of all the elves; I preferred sword work. It would be easier to shoot him, but I'd be brought down by the Elven archers before I was even in range. And who knew where the prince was going to be anyways?  
As I had countless times before, I told myself it was useless and began scouting for deer tracks for my morning meal.

One more thought flashed in my mind; That prince deserves to die.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I know the action's a bit dull, but I promise to pick it up sooner rather than later. Some recognizable characters will be added. Legolas fans, try not to hate Jevryn, m'kay? No more chapters for awhile.**

The arrow struck with deadly accuracy and I watched with an expressionless face as the doe fell, crumpling to her knees and then to her blood-soaked flank.

Making my way over to the deer, I knelt besides her and gently maneuvered both the arrow shaft and arrow head loose from her flesh, a trick I had learned ages before from Quinn. A stream of scarlet blood flooded out of the wound and filled the air with a metallic, tangy scent that would warn any prey that death had visited this area and would be sure do so again.  
A few drops of rain splattered into the ground around me. Excellent, something to wash away the kill.

Tucking my arrow back into the quiver, I remained crouching at the deer's side, listening to the rain pick up. Soon it was thundering all around me, streaming down my hood and making a clumpy mess of the deer's pelt.  
I couldn't move, all I could do was stare at the creature I'd butchered. I felt no guilt, nor sorrow for it had to be done, but there was something...

'Sometime's life's got a bigger meaning than hunting and sleeping, Jev.' Quinn's words, said to me with a saucy wink. I didn't think much of it at the time, Quinn was always coming up with sentimental ideas like that and he was usually joking, or so I thought. It wasn't until now, when he was gone, that I realized my mentor was trying to tell me something.

"*Amin na il korna ta." I muttered in Sindarin. "Idiot."  
With all my heart, I wished Quinn was here now, the presence at my side that would guide me. Besides that, he could tell me what he meant.

My lack of understanding frustrating me, I stood abruptly and sent a fallen branch flying with my boot. "I want to do something about it, not waste time thinking about an old man's dilapidated poetry verses!" I yelled at the air.  
Pacing across the deer carcass, I thought furiously about what I could do, what was Quinn trying to tell me?

Suddenly I paused. A smile broke over my face. "He was trying to say don't do this, you fool." Don't lose control for a moment, because if you focus on killing your whole life, you'll turn into a deranged murderer. So I began to approach the situation reasonably.

"You have to make amends...you have to...solve issues..." I murmured, thinking aloud. "By the Valar, Quinn, couldn't you have told me directly?"  
Legolas! The blond princeling was definitely an..._amend_ that I had to solve. And if nothing else, hunting him would be an enjoyable pastime.  
I shrugged and spoke as if Quinn was right next to me. "I think I found my new purpose, Quinn."

My eyes caught on the mass of dead deer I had yet to deal with. Something to sell for exchange for a room and board in town, perhaps. No one asks too many questions if you hand them enough gold.

Slinging the deer over my shoulder by its forelegs, I began a rainy march to the nearest town.

The trees thinned after a couple hours hard at my journey. Entering a large field of wild, waving grass just past the tree line, I halted. Squinting through the ever-persistent rain, I saw a clump of houses on the horizon, and shadowy shapes that looked like livestock, maybe even a horse or two. Perhaps I needn't stay in town.

A light jog took me to what I later discovered was a farm. Not the same farm as the family's from the slave wagons, luckily enough for me, but it could be any farm with a horse and a need for gold.

A thin woman dressed in work clothes saw me and stopped to gape. She then hurried to usher me inside like I was a stray chicken.  
The family was well-off and didn't wish to buy the slain deer, so I graciously offered it as payment for a night in their barn.

In the dead of night, I slipped away astride a stately black stallion who had feathered hooves, a thick mane and tail, and a strong shape to him.  
That is quite the example of what you get for trusting people, I thought grimly as the stallion pranced under the bit, eager to run.

I gave him his head and with a loud snort, he took off like a pack of wolves was snapping on his heels. Together we ran towards the lands of Eryn Lasgalen to meet the prince.

*Amin na il korna ta: I do not believe it.


	4. Chapter 4

"Yes, you may rest now, ne vanim." I murmured into my horse's ear, a different horse from the black stallion, who had been taken down by a group of rogue bandits. This one was smaller, with a bay coat.

Running my fingers over his sweat-dampened shoulder, I stood, facing the looming trees ahead. So familiar, yet instead of looking upon them with a sense of homecoming, they arose a stir of emotions in me, none of them welcoming.

The forest where I once lived. Training day in and day out while my peers danced and laughed and throve in the sunlit groves.

Child-like jealousy stole over me as I remembered their bright, cheerful faces, poking fun at one another until their parents called them in. They would skip gaily into warm arms and the smaller ones would often be tossed into the air, squealing with mirth.  
In contrast, when I returned from a lone hunting session, in full hunting garb, streaked with mud and leaves and smelling of sweat and blood with a dead hare swinging in my hands, my mother would look down at me with cold eyes and guide me into our home, her only words to me being, "Place that thing on the table and find your father, he's preparing a sparring match."

At first, when I was younger, tears would spring into my eyes and my throat would close up, but as I got older, the tears ceased and were replaced with a warrior-like resolve to break away, or at least prove to them I was good enough, better even.

Shaking off the old feelings with a mental reprimand to focus on the task at hand, I inhaled and faced my horse again. I needed to leave him here, at the edge of the forest. The less noise I made in the trees, the better.

Clicking to the bay softly, I led him to a young oak tree and secured his reins to one of the lower branches. He nickered at me, bobbing his head, and lazily began nibbling at the buds on the branch.

Half-smiling, I gave him a firm pat on the neck and proceeded into the woods, sticking to shade the trees provided in the afternoon sun. My boots didn't make a sound, which I was proud of, having trained for years to move in utter silence on any terrain. Even now, I still had to keep a sharp eye out for sticks or roots I could stumble on.

All elves have a naturally light step, but, as I saw in my childhood in Greenwood, we have some hopelessly clumsy cases. I was not one of those elves.

As I stalked through the wilderness, I eyed the earth for traces of a shallow Elven boot print. Not a hint. Quite impressive, perhaps I'd underestimated my kin.  
No, this is their land, why creep around like intruders? Were my people in trouble? Doubtful. No many people could challenge the prowess of the elves, even the lesser elves like the Silvan.

I myself have both Sindar and a little bit of Noldor from my mother, a relative of Elrond of Imladris. My father was a warrior under King Thranduil, who had varying amounts of both Silvan and Sindar blood, so I suppose I am some of all three. But does that all really matter? If an elf has "seen the light" in Valinor, does it really improve them that much?

My parents, under the influence of a power much greater and more twisted than they, had not exposed me to much of the Elven religion. Yes, I swore by the Valar, but I respected them as ancient, possibly fabled, powerful warriors.

Ah, religion. The search for perfection for the Elves. No, being immortal with looks fairer than any human and battle skills that resemble a dance of death was not enough for them.

I took the long path around a particularly thorny patch of shrubbery, taking extra care to make sure none of my clothing snagged on the prickly branches.

It occurred to me I needed a plan. And another plan in case the first failed. Quinn, as much as he relied on gut instincts, always reminded me that having a well-structured idea of what you're going to do often makes sure that you're actually going to get it done correctly.

Well, I would locate Legolas, obviously. He would most likely be in the cliff side stronghold where his father held court. But I had to be ready if he wasn't. How would I lure him away to, well, complete the mission?

_Was the "mission" actually worth it?_ Surprise flickered through me. Doubts? I didn't have doubts. My conscience apparently thought otherwise.

_Why only kill the prince? And if you're going to kill someone, why him? Why not Thranduil? Is this whole ordeal something that needs to be done or something that I want to be done? Why are you going to the trouble? How-?_

No! I was going to do this whether it would matter or not. Who said I had to care what other's thought of me? I never had, so why start now? Scowling, I glared into the distance where the main city of Eryn Lasgalen lay.

_That prince will die. And then I will have fulfilled my vengeance and get on to..._

What did I have to get on to? Without Quinn, I was just that pillaging ranger with no purpose, wandering Middle Earth for eternity. For one split second, I almost believed I felt...lonely. Then the second passed and I had to return to reality.

_You are Jevryn Haldaer. There is no place in the world for your insignificant whining. Get on with it._

A barrage of voices filled the air, and I ducked behind a thick tree-trunk, my heart suddenly ramming against my ribcage.

Happy, lilting, Elvish voices. They spoke Sindarin at a comfortable, rapid pace. From what I could tell, they were discussing their people's welfare. Nothing that affects me.  
The voices were all foreign, which did not help me at all. They faded as the party of elves moved farther away from me.

Now, two options had sprung up. Follow the elves to wherever they were heading, or travel to where I was sure the city would be.  
Turning away from the elves, I snuck into the underbrush, resuming my trek to the city. The rest of the journey took me six and a half days, encountering no sentient beings on the way. In the middle of the seventh day, I came to the city.

The sun was blazing in the sky, creating long shadows that stretched out and embraced me, giving me a place to hide. Taking refuge in behind a house, I watched the elves passing by for any familiar faces.

It was peacetime for them, judging by the conversation of the elves in the forest and the general mood of the crowd, a glorious time to be spending with the Wood-elves.  
Feasts and dancing with singing that made even the stars themselves shiver with delight. Never much of a singer or dancer- a strange concept for an elf such as I -I was always training during the feasts and usually dined on the leftovers my parents had scavenged for me. When I was training, I often listening to the singing, but that was as much as I participated in the merrymaking.

I recognized many elves resplendent in their Lothlorïen-style attire. Some even bore the mark of Imladris, a rare thing for elves of such high rank visiting wood rats like us.  
Walking quietly behind the houses, I kept an eye on the shops across the road. Soldiers often stopped there for supplies before making their daily rounds, and not on any condition did I want to be seen.

That would create quite a problem if I wanted to enter the magic door that protected the King's hall and an assortment of underground rooms. A hooded outcast armed to the teeth wouldn't just be admitted in and told to wait for an audience with the king. There are no second chances here. I would be escorted out of Eryn Lasgalen or thrown into prison at best, and the Valar knows what else.

Grimacing, I glanced distractedly towards the shops one last time to check if any guards were lurking and froze.

Legolas was standing there with an elf from Lothlorïen who displayed the mark of a captain and might've been called Haldir if my memory served me correctly.  
The prince was a bit broader in shoulder since I last set eyes on him, but still had the same look of agile strength about him. The sun shone off his white-blond hair, braided in the exact same style as it was that fateful day. He was clothed in a tunic, boots, bracers, leggings, and an Elven-made cloak attached with a leaf of Lorïen, all in dull shades of grey, brown and green. A hunting bow of our people was strung on his back complete with a quiver full of arrows, and two long knife sheaths crossed on his shoulders blades. He was one of the best of our people in archery, but I had never seen him with the knives. I assumed he had a hunting knife too, unless he was seriously daft.

He spoke with Haldir cordially, a master at politics by now. Haldir himself was a little shorter and stockier than Legolas with a rounder face and brown eyes, but they shared the same blond hair, albeit tied up in a different fashion.

My bow would be the best way to be done with it at the moment, but it would alert everyone of my presence, and I wasn't the best hand at archery anyways, unlike the impeccable prince over there.

Why was I even here? This plan was proving to be near impossible.  
~Be grateful he wasn't inside the door.~

Well, it was a one in a million chance he'd randomly decide to take a lovely walk through the trees by himself, so I settled down to wait.

My stakeout went on for three days, and it was only on the eve of the fourth day that I had luck. I was half-asleep in the thicker branches of one of the trees around the town, clumsily holding onto the rough bark.

Yet, footsteps snapped me out of my stupor. Light and barely audible, they sounded from the bridge.  
I roused myself, wincing at the pain in my stiff muscles, and settled into a crouch amongst the leaves, looking around them to search for the cause of the footsteps.

It was Legolas! The lean princeling was dressed in his hunting array and heading in the direction of the forest.

A grin flitted across my face. Indeed, this would be a pleasant day after all. Moving slowly like a giant spider descending from its web, I reached the ground and began to follow him.

Legolas didn't glance around and I trailed him successfully out of hearing range of any elves in the city.

A slight rasp made me cringe as I unsheathed my sword. A few birds called their alarm shrilly and I pictured myself shooting them out of their trees with my bow.

Legolas' head was tilted back, facing away from me, watching the birds chirping and chattering from branch to branch.

Raising my sword, I ran a few paces towards him on feet as light as feathers and leapt, the glint of the sun catching my blade.

The whistle in the air as my sword sliced downwards seemed skull-shatteringly loud, although I knew it was merely a whisper.

It was enough. Legolas spun around like a cat whose tail has been treaded on, his azure eyes narrowed. Just in time, he sprung back, the keen edge of my sword only giving him a thin cut across his chest.

Swinging my sword around, droplets of royal blood flying off it, and I took a fighting stance, glaring vehemently at Legolas. Charging him, I kicked him square in the chest, knocking him over, and swiped my sword at his throat.

But the prince met my sword with a flash of silver. He'd yanked both of his long knives out of their sheaths mid-fall. He hit my sword back, sending a tingle down into my hands as the blade shook, and was on his feet before I could retaliate.

We circled each other, and he spun his knives in his hands, but I did not allow myself to even glance at the bright mithril.

Suddenly a look of recognition flickered across his face. "Jevryn? A tanya lle?"

Not replying, I struck. My blade stood quivering at his neck, the edge poised about a throbbing artery. Legolas stood still, his eyes flitting over to meet mine.

The blue irises were full of memories and a strange sadness, the same I'd seen in my dream.  
"A tanya lle?" He repeated, the words slow and cautious, like he was speaking to a wild panther who was unsure whether to attack or flee.

Tilting my head and, frankly enjoying having him at my mercy, I hissed into his ear. "Estelio nin, you will wish it wasn't."

"Lle naa belegohtar, Jevryn." His voice was calm, even-toned.

"Don't waste your petty compliments on me, princeling." I bit off each word viciously.

"Ah, indeed. There is a fire in your eyes, Haldaer, from the wrongs we have done you, there is no doubt."

"From the wrongs you did me." I gave him a cold look. "Now what is your bargain for your life? All of your wheedling does not escape me."

"I will accompany you out of Eryn Lasgalen." The words shocked me. I'd expected some pathetic pleading.

"The ransom will be high." He coaxed me.

"Silence. I have no need for gold." I considered it. Legolas was trying to appeal to the greedy side he thought was in me. He had a point, though. If I took him with me, I could demand a ransom, take the money and slaughter the prince.

"Fine. Drop your weapons- including that knife on your belt." I ordered, not lowering my sword.

Legolas threw his long knives to the ground, unslung his bow and quiver, and took out his hunting knife, tossing it at my feet with the others.

"Now move." I shoved him forward. This had better be worth it. I'd just allowed my victim to reason with me; this was a sharp one, and often, the deadliest weapon was the mind.

Ne vanim: My beauty  
A tanya lle: Is that you?  
Estelio nin: Trust me  
Lle naa belegohtar: You are a mighty warrior.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: If I am ever particularly late in putting up a chapter, or just have something to say about the story, I'll explain on my profile. (The Elvish words are generally Sindarin translations I've found. I highly doubt they're accurate, but it's all I've got.) Next chapter soon, hopefully.**

Twilight reigned over the land with a gentle hand, the stars revealing themselves one by one in the murky expanse of the sky.

And while I could be enjoying the scenic view, albeit a sight I had seen so many times before, I had a blond Elven princeling tied to my horse's saddle horn and was faced with the task of finding somewhere to put him overnight where he wouldn't escape.  
Holding a prisoner was a tricky and interfering business, therefore I tried to avoid it as often as I could, causing all of my victims to be, shall we say, "kill on sight".

With the exception of the current one.

I had bound his hands together and lashed them to my saddle horn, having him walk besides the horse while I sat in the saddle. I'll admit, it wasn't the best idea, but giving him the reins didn't seem like the most intelligent solution either.

The most irritating aspect of the whole situation was I couldn't ride at more than a walk, and maybe a trot for awhile. I could drag him through the dirt as we cantered, but the ransom wouldn't be nearly as effective then- I didn't want to damage my bargaining piece.

So we walked on. The bay horse had the sluggish, lazy gait of one who had spent the whole day doing nothing and now didn't see any point in making an effort.

I looked down at the prince. Legolas walked steadily, with his head high and his eyes forward. He had not said a word since he had bartered for his life in the forest of his kin. There was nothing for him to say.

Tightening the reins to reinforce my control, I nudged the dazed horse into a plodding trot with my heels. Legolas nearly tripped, but recovered swiftly, jogging in time with the horse's hooves and I wondered if I'd imagined the mishap.

Legolas stoically kept his "strong and silent" composure; his air of nobility and pride would've fit into his father's hall, and seemed strange for a prisoner under the threat of death and the unknown. Not a single strand of pure golden-white hair was out of place and not a crease of fear marred his expressionless face.

I was no stranger to the perfection of the elves. Their vanity will be their downfall. One day Legolas will be brought down from the daydreams he has been raised in, and, by the Valar, that day will be soon.

As much as the perfection of their kind irked me, and their general aura infuriated me, I knew the elves were doughty warriors. Legolas had proved that. I would have to strive to reach that day. In addition, I knew that my escape was held by a fragile thread, and Legolas' people could appear over the horizon, their arrows piercing my horse's hide and my heart in the name of their beloved prince.

A wave of nerves crashed over me. We weren't moving fast enough. We were in open prairie and rolling hills with only the waving blades of grass to hide us from the extraordinarily sharp eyes of the Silvans.

"Oy! There's our little cheat!" A rough, distinctly human voice shouted and I started, my mind going to the slavers.

"Ai! Ga, no'!" I snarled at Legolas. He scarcely blinked and swung himself onto the horse in front of me, the rope digging into the skin of his wrists. I leaned over him, grabbed the reins around him, and looked over his shoulder with slitted eyes. A group of oddly familiar humans swaggered over a ridge, crude bows in their hands and knives lining their belts. "C'mon, horse, rima ten'ta!" I shouted, yanking roughly at the horse's mouth- this was no time to think about the welfare of the beast -and sent him practically spinning around and plunging into a wild gallop.

"No, you don't! Fire!" The first voice ordered. A barrage of arrows soared around us and I dodged, pushing Legolas down across the neck of our steed. One tore through my black cloak and I huddled lower. A few heartbeats later, thinking that a ripped cloak was all the damage that was going to be done, I began to relax.

Then a strangled scream erupted from under me and the horse reared in pain, sending me tumbling backwards. The air whooshed out of me and for a moment, I choked, scrabbling at the earth in an attempt to get my bearings. Then I rolled away, out of the path of the thrashing hooves, springing up and breathing hard.

Legolas was still perched on the terrified creature, who was now blowing like a pair of bellows with his ears flattened against his skull and the whites of his eyes flashing. Heavy hooves skittered over the ground with muscles quivering beneath a red-brown coat. An arrow sprouted from his flank, not deep, but blood still tricked out around the shaft.

The prince, bound and helpless, was speaking to the horse in soothing, Elven tones, gripping onto its side with his legs.

Frustrated and torn, I looked between escape, which was laden with an injured horse and a cumbersome prisoner, and battle, which meant meeting the rugged humans running straight at me, bare swords in hand.

Suddenly, I identified the dirt-splotched faces of the men. The bandits that had killed the black stallion! Escape was sounding pretty swell.

The rogues had long harbored a grudge against me and Quinn because of a deal Quinn had made with them to get me and him out of one of our last misadventures that involved an abandoned castle and some Rohan soldiers. We broke that deal and fled with our lives. Now Quinn was dead and I was coming closer to joining him.  
They pulled up in a circle surrounding me and Legolas, grinning savagely. "Well, well, well. The liar's Elven companion. It seems like only yesterday that I nearly killed you." The leader eyed me with disgust.

"I know what you want, but there is no way you'll be getting it. Be on your way, miscreants!" I commanded, drawing my own glimmering blade.

"Not likely." The leader bared his rotting teeth. "What is your fare?" He glanced at Legolas and for a second, his arrogance seemed to fade to be replaced by something that looked like awe, but quickly reverted back. A typical response by a dim witted being who rarely encounters elves. Unsurprisingly, I do not often have that same reverence in reaction to my presence. "Kidnapping your own kind, now?"

"Your ignorance shames you-"

"The lady's business is her own, knave." A lilting voice, but infused with power and tinted with anger. Legolas was sitting tall on the horse as if it was from a royal Calvary instead of the shack I'd got it from. His blue eyes flashed and crackled like lightning. "Leave, before your blood is the price you pay for your insolence."

"This lady, as you say, has not paid her own price!" The leader scowled and pointed his sword at me. "But she's about to."

Glaring at him, I took a step forward, and pain shot through my shoulder. I screamed and almost fell, regaining my balance just enough to collapse to my knees. Agony burst through my shoulder and I gasped, breath ragged in my throat.

Pain. Mind-numbing pain. I could barely form a coherent thought, let alone move. I had to manage it. With a violently shaking hand, I felt my shoulder. My fingers touched something sticky and I knew it was blood. Moaning, I raised my hand higher and touched the shaft of an arrow.

Shuddering, with tears streaking down my face, I lifted my head. The shimmer of a sword, the malicious grin on a grimy face, a yell of surprise, and then darkness, warm, enveloping blackness, carried me away on its ebony wings into sweet oblivion.

Ai! Ga, no'!: Ah! Get on!  
Rima ten'ta: Run for it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: There's a poll on my profile, go ahead and check it out! I feel like I'm rushing a bit to get chapters out, and that lowers the quality of my writing, so there might be a bit of a gap between the next post. **

"Jevryn. Don't follow the light." The voice was crisp, clear and commanding, its tone making warning me to not disappoint the speaker.

With an incredible amount of self-discipline, I forced myself to open my eyes. A canopy of green, with patches of blue, all blurry and wavering. Trees. My home.

Dry-swallowing, I focused on a face that loomed over me, it's two eyes like pieces of the sky. It's gaze flitted between my face and my shoulder.

Slowly, memories came creeping back, like dewdrops falling from the edge of a leaf. My captive. Bandits. Shoulder. And above all, the gnawing presence of pain.

Knowing I should remain as still as possible, I blinked as my vision began failing me, the edges of my sight becoming hazy and my eyelids becoming boulders. There were only two things about this I didn't understand. I struggled to form words with my completely parched mouth, causing any sound to rasp through my throat and come out hoarse and strangled. "Who...whe-?"

"My name is Legolas. We were reunited in Eryn Lasgalen two days ago." The cool voice supplied the answer without missing a beat. "You're in a forest east of the Misty Mountains."

I groaned, allowing my eyes to close. In the clutches of my own prisoner with a wound of such magnitude that I could barely stir. Nevertheless, weakness would mean death, as was the way of the world.

I knew I had to... I had to... What did I have to do? My mind spun feverishly and pain flashed in my shoulder again, making my teeth grind together.

"Settle down. What you need now is rest and medicine." Legolas' voice had gentled, perhaps thinking I was delirious.

I was not! I knew perfectly well what he had in that twisted mind of his! I've got the traitor, the runaway, the murderer! Let us be rid of her and send her soul away from this land!

He'd probably summoned his friends already. It was a wonder a bear or something of the like hadn't devoured me in his absence. Quinn would never do something like that to me.

No, not that wily ranger. I chuckled, the spasm in my shoulder from the movement almost dulled. Maybe I was healed! By the Valar, some luck at last!

"Jevryn, hush." A hand pressed against my forehead for a second and I lashed out, pushing myself up with bared teeth. The hand was torn away as quickly as it had appeared.

Fire ripped through my shoulder and, with a low cry, I flung myself back to the cold earth, gripping the wound with my good hand, glaring up at the smudge that embodied the prince. I spat at him in Elvish; "Don't touch me!"

My limbs were quaking and my shoulder burned with every twitch. My face contorted in a silent scream; but I didn't make a sound, except to gasp. "Never...touch...me..."

"Jevryn, you must listen, you cannot-" Legolas pleaded, a hand stretched out imploringly.

Ignoring him- fool of an elf -I struggled to my feet, one hand holding my shoulder in a death lock. "I...am not one...to let...pain be my master...I am my master, no one else! Remember that, elf!" I snapped at him, swaying where I stood.

"Jevryn!" The call was strong, compelling. I looked at him with scorching eyes.

He stared me down. "Your place is here. Do not attempt this, it is folly. Come now. I used to know you in another life, Jevryn, you are not such a fool as to try this."

I glared. "You don't know what I'm capable of!" I took a lurching step towards him. "You don't know anything! Leave me alone! Leave me as you and everyone else did! Continue being a coward! It is not my concern!"

"I made it my concern." He looked at me, fathomless eyes hard and cold as steel.

"Then you're mad." I grinned, nearly losing my balance, then regaining it with effort. "Mad as a fox...mad as a moonstruck hare. Mad as a-"

A thumping in the ground made me pause. The leaves on their trees fluttered and the birds dove up into the sky. Looking around I saw nothing but greenery, my normally piercing eyes weak.

"I know that march. The feet of the foul Orc." Legolas was quiet now, tense.

"Orcs, bloody orcs." I snorted, fumbling for my sword. "I'll take care of their lot, you can head back to your precious forest."

"HALT!" A roar thundered through the trees. "There, something up ahead." A brief pause, then the sound of metal clattering and a dumb grunt. "Well, go on and see what it is!"

Legolas cast a glance at me, worry gleaming in his eyes, belying the ferocious expression on his face.

I didn't know why he was worried about me. Maybe he was afraid the stench would knock me out, because they did smell revolting.

Next thing I knew, I was slumped over, with Legolas' arm looped around my back for support. It was an all time low for me.

My eyes completely quit on me, leaving me to the world of my thoughts pounding in my head and the voices from the outside echoing in. I could feel Legolas' heartbeat, picking up speed by the minute. I faintly remembered I wanted to kill him, but couldn't reach for my knife, which irritated me.

"Two elves, hmph."  
"That one doesn't look like an elf, are you sure-?"

Not a word from Legolas, but I felt a swift and sharp motion from him. And suddenly there were two thuds. And we were running.

Forest flashed by, I tripped, rolled, screaming as my shoulder was jostled mercilessly.  
The sound of arrows flying, indignant shouts and I passed out again, nestled in the undergrowth.

When I woke again, the odor of sweat and filth rolled over me. "Ah..." Finding that I had a splitting headache, I shut my eyes, exploring the world with my other senses.  
The sound of heavy marching sent vibrations up through the ground. A strange, guttural language rumbled around me and the chink of armor hitting armor was apparent.

I tried to feel whatever I was laying on to no avail. My hands were tied with thick rope, so I turned my head to the side of my face could touch the floor.

The surface me was poorly fashioned planks of wood built together- a cart, was my guess. My shoulder hurt, a subdued, throbbing pain that I was getting used to. The cart was moving, but fairly smoothly over what I believed was a grassy ground.  
Legolas. As much as I knew the prince was the least of my worries right now, I still wondered where he was.

Bracing myself, I opened my eyes. Orcs, everywhere, an ocean of them! I didn't need to check to know that my sword was gone, and with it went any dream of escape.  
This seemed oddly familiar. Frustration consumed me. I just wanted out. Back into the world of shadows.

That prince! I would've been riding west if not for him. Should've slit his throat when I had the chance.  
Now all I could do was wait for my fate to unfold.

"That one up ahead with the shiny hair is a prince." An Orc reported, running back to a well-muscled brute walking on the left of my cart. Obviously intelligence wasn't something a lot of the orcs possessed.

The larger of the two's face turned sly and I wanted to shout, "He's my victim!"

"We'll take him with us. Master'll be pleased with some royal blood." The giant bared his curved, yellowed teeth. He glanced at me carelessly, black eyes glittering. "Now _she_ is another story..."

I had seen orcs feed; it was a frenzy. I was done for if they decided to go ahead with it. My heart beat wildly in my chest, and I thought frantically, _how can I get myself out of this?_

Attacking would mean certain death; although I was used to fighting through physical pain, it would slow me down enough to make me an easy target.

Running would be stupid. I wasn't even going to let it cross my mind.

I only had one chance and it was pretty slim. Act sick, as sick as can be. No one wants to eat a poisoned meal, including orcs.

So I arched my back, rolling my eyes into the back of my head and let my jaw hang loose. I was so concentrated on being on my deathbed, I nearly lost track of the of the orcs conversation over whether they should drop me off and let me die, cook me to get rid of the disease, or eat me raw.

Locking my eyes on the sky, I waited, faking a groan of misery once in awhile.  
Abruptly, the talking ceased and a pair of thick muscled arms threw me to the side of the road like a piece of rubbish.

I landed on my wounded side, emitting a shriek of pain that was only half put-on. Coughing, I maneuvered myself like I wanted to roll over, but lacked the strength.  
And I sprawled there as the Orc army passed by. A few of them wandered over and kicked me, checking if I was good enough to eat, but their commanders ordered them back in line.

Eventually, even the dust in their wake settled into the earth and I could sit up.  
I could've sat there and pondered my options, but in my heart, I knew what I was going to do. I was going to save the prince who saved my life needlessly. It was a rather heroic thing to do, I suppose. But it was merely repaying a debt, and besides, Legolas' blood would be on my sword, no one else's.

"Idiotic elf," I grumbled, pushing myself up with a swift glance at the sky to check how many hours of daylight I had left- it was late afternoon. "Had to go and get yourself captured."


	7. Chapter 7

The night was long and my wound was stinging in the fresh air, even underneath the layers of cloth around it. I winced with every step I took. This rescue mission, even if aided by the cover of darkness, was going to be eventful.

I had tracked the orcs- a pretty easy feat to accomplish -to their camp for the night. Legolas was tied to a stake in the middle of the camp and his bright blue eyes had flashed towards me when I had snuck around the outskirts of the orcs. He wasn't injured, but fully aware that I had returned. Hopefully, that wouldn't disrupt the rest of the rescue.

I raised a hand, rubbing my shoulder methodically. Maybe more pressure would decrease the pain.

Pausing in my journey, I bent and ripped a strip of fabric from my already battered cloak. Bracing my wounded arm by pressing the hand into a tree, I gripped a corner of the material with my teeth, and held it as I wrapped the rest of the makeshift bandage around the old one- which Legolas had tied while I was unconscious.

Steadily, I lifted my arm and rolled my shoulder in its socket, testing the bandage's worth. I could barely feel it, but that was most likely because the tightly wound cloth was cutting off my blood circulation.

I resumed walking, my mind fixed on the mission ahead. There would be nothing to it. I would get in, grab my weapons and maybe grab Legolas if I had the time and run. My mutinous legs trembled in protest at the though of the sprint to come. I was going to have to push through.

The weapons were definitely my first priority. The only ones I had used since my banishment, they had never failed me, and if lost them now, I couldn't just waltz back over to the elven kingdom and ask for a new set. As for Legolas...

And as I had done what seemed like too many times already, I thought about the pros and cons of rescuing the prince.

Pro; he seemed like too much of a pushover to hurt me or even leave me while I was injured. Yet that trick he'd pulled in the grove in Eryn Lasgalen proved that theory wrong.

Pro; there would be a ransom involved if I brought him back to his father.

Con; in my weakened state, he could kill me. Now, this was highly unlikely, but I didn't want to leave out any factors, however unreasonable they may be.

Con; he could run back to his people and set the whole tribe of them after me.

Pro; he could help me. If Legolas really was kind at heart, he'd want to help a poor, unfortunate soul like me.

Muttering a choice elvish curse under my breath, I remembered the orcs circled around the prince. Never mind what Legolas would do after I got him out; getting him out would be hard enough. I literally might lose an arm in the process.

"Let's just get this over with," I snapped at myself, and wheeled around in the direction of the orcs camp.

I wasn't such a fool to believe I was going to fight a whole troop of orcs in my condition. I was going to use my most favored skills; stealth in the dark.

The wind rustled softly, as if agreeing with me. I smiled, enjoying the cool air. The time was right to take action, to fight and kill under a wide sable sky with scattered points of burning light. Powdery earth lay beneath my feet, a generally trustable substance when sparring.

My heart beats came rapidly, one after another in the rush of pre-battle and my vision sharpened, turning the landscape into a beauteous world where I could partake in every detail. Ah! Now I could see the shapes of Legolas and the orcs through the trees.  
Flexing my knees, I dropped into a crouch, pressing my hand against a tree and leaning around it. Taking only a few seconds in this precautionary pose, I strode swiftly into the brush.

The journey took me five minutes, if that, at the pace I was going. When I arrived, I found the glowing light of fire in the orcs midst. Gritting my teeth, I circled the camp, which, because of the number of orcs, was quite massive. My boots trod in complete silence, lightly and agilely. Not a crunch or thud could be heard.

The orcs had several fires going, which would alert others of their presence and perhaps prompt a few passerby to see what dwelled this deep in the woods, but the orcs need not fear anyone in these parts.

Except me.

Narrowing my eyes, I saw Legolas. His head was up, alert, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. There was no blood on him, although an ugly purple bruise had appeared on his cheek. A gag was in his mouth and he remained bound to the stake.

A few orcs away from him were the weapons, glinting tantalizingly at me in the dancing firelight. Legolas' bow, long knives and hunting knife had joined the collection. No need for me to pick up those.

I eyed the situation. Most of the orcs were asleep, snoring obnoxiously, but the ones nearest Legolas and the weapons were conversing quietly among themselves. It would be easy to reach them, and I could grab my knife...yes, it would work if I was quick enough.

Before I could move, I spotted a fresh mound of bones in my peripheral vision. Upon further examination, I recognized a horse skull and a few strands of coarse black hair attached to the meatier parts of the carnage. The bay horse's remains. Legolas must've taken him with us when we fled the bandits. Look where that got him.

Remembering one more thing, I unfastened my cloak, setting it down on a mossy root. It would create air and brush past orcs- I was not taking that risk.

Perched on the balls of my feet, I dancing between the sleeping forms of the orcs with fluid ease. Suddenly, I was directly behind the first Orc awake on guard. He was chewing on something, most likely the horse's remains. I ducked around him, snatched the first hilt my fingers touched- it was one of Legolas' long knives -the blade glistening pale in the moonlight, and drew it across the orc's throat, sidestepping as he collapsed soundlessly. I made quick work of the others, weaving between them with death in my hand. Then I dropped Legolas' blood-wetted knife and fitted myself with my own weapons.

Legolas' eyes stared intensely at me and I halted, wondering if it was worth it to get that ransom. Not a trace of desperation was on the prince's face, just a proud, untouchable expression. His eyes held something, though...

Not again. Not for what that cost me. So I glared back at the prince coldly, and made my escape, whirling my cloak around me as I ran.

The night wind whipped in my face and in my fierce joy in my sweet revenge, my legs forgot their pain. Freedom!

**Legolas' POV**

Jevryn's dark eyes pierced me and I could see the scorn in them, as if she was saying, what have you done for me that would make me want to rescue you? A moment later, she was gone, into the woods.

Maybe Thranduil was right; she was a hopeless soul. However, she was also the potential hope to our situation.

I was frustrated with her, for I recognized many of her doubts for the ones in myself, and I could not help her, for she would let no one in. Especially not me.

Now I was facing death because of her. Part of me cursed her, Haldaer that she was, and part of me was consumed with pity.

My doom looming over me, I glanced around, searching for something to get me out.  
The blood-stained elvish blade Jevryn had used to slaughter the orcs laid at my feet. A moment later, I'd grasped it between my boots, which the orcs had stupidly left unbound, and had flipped it up behind me, where my hand were tied. For a horrible heartbeat, it teetered in my hands, but then I closed my fingers around it, maneuvering the blade in a position to saw through the rope. My hands free, I cut through my gag and the layers of rope wrapped around my waist and torso.  
I leapt up, adorning myself with the remainder of my weapons, before bolting off in the same direction as Jevryn, my cold muscles regaining warmth as I moved.

I was not sure why I followed her. A sense of duty, perhaps? It was for me she was shot with an arrow, a desire to kill me, yes, but she didn't.

She was incredibly deadly, a wild creature once as tame as her kin, now roughened by so many things. Pity washed over me completely. This rogue elf reminded me of Gollum, the twisted mess of a hobbit my people watched over in the mountains.

Jevryn's slight tracks came into sight and I ran harder. On any account, she would not be happy to see me, but it had to be done.

Some time later, I came upon her with her back against a tree trunk, a smoldering fire with a dead squirrel roasting on a crude spit hanging over it in front of her.

Her gaze was blurry with weariness as she stared into the flames, but she looked up at I approached. Fury immediately lit her eyes, but she didn't move. "Were you too tough for the orcs to cook?" Her voice was tight with pain.

"I escaped," I answered simply, standing next to the fire.

Jevryn grunted quietly, her eyes returning to the flickering flames. "I can see that. But what I really wonder is, why are you here?"

There was no point in lying to her. "I wished to make certain you were all right." I watched her face, wan in the firelight. "And it seems like you are not."

She made no sound, but shifted slightly.

"You need to clean that wound." I cut to the point, sensing Jevryn was not one for dancing around the topic.

She remained still. "And cauterize it, yes I am aware. How long did you think I've been living out here, princeling?"

I didn't respond, just walked over to her, crouching at her side.

Jevryn flinched away from me, a warning light in her eyes. "I suggest you not touch me, prince."

Ignoring her, I began to unwrap the cloth around the wound. Instead of protesting more, Jevryn stared off into the distance, jaw firmly set. She knew that she was not fit enough to do this herself, and while I was not particularly talented in the art of healing, I knew enough.

The wound looked worse from when I had seen it last; blood still seeped steadily from it, along with a clear liquid that proved infection was setting in. It looked sore and irritated, caused by too much movement on Jevryn's part.

"Lean forward," I told Jevryn in an even tone. I had to check the other side of the wound; when Jevryn had first been shot, the arrow hasn't punctured all the way through her shoulder, so I'd had to cut it out while she was still unconscious.

Jevryn winced, but used her hands to position herself forward, moving her shoulder as little as possible.

I picked apart the bandage and what I saw was slightly more promising then on the front side, it was cleaner and on the way to mending.

"Hurry." Jevryn's voice rasped in her throat. Sitting like this was causing her pain.

I swiftly rewrapped the wound and she sat up, resting her head back against the tree, letting out her breath.

The following minutes would be painful to describe. I washed Jevryn's wound and cauterized it, much to her agony. It had to be done.

When it was over, I sat back, eyeing her pain-racked form with an odd lack of emotion.

Her breathing was shallow and gasping when I had finished. She trembled, but did not look at me or do anything else that implied weakness.

Silence prevailed, and then I broke it. "The burning should stop any infection."

She refused to look at me, wide eyes fixed on the stars.

"You should rest. After that, there is not much you could do anyways." I spoke softly.

She turned her gaze on me. The deep brown irises were still dull with pain, but there was anger in their depths. "If you kill me or do anything to hurt me, I swear, Legolas Thranduileon, I will haunt you beyond death." She lifted her eyes back to the sky. It was lightening, barely, just enough to be noticeable.

I hid a small smile. She had the heart of a heroine, as much as she didn't want to admit it. She had not brought herself to kill me yet.

There was valiance and nobility in the heart of Jevryn Haldaer, and with those very traits, she might be the elves' saving grace.


	8. Chapter 8

Bright beams of sunlight sharpened the world, outlining every detail and clarifying the unfamiliar forest around us.

Not an Orc, bandit or any type of idiot with a sword in sight. In other words, my idea of peace.

I was still in pain, although the piercing feeling had faded to a subtle aching- if I remained positively still. Frankly, I had no desire to move at all, but Legolas remained alive- and that did not improve my mood. Yet I knew I had to do something about it, so I began to form a plan.

Talk to him, demand to know what was going on. He wouldn't rescue me for no reason; an dark elf, an outcast? Never.

All right. So that's what I would say, I just needed to follow through.

It had been many a year since I'd been taught the common rules of courtesy by the elves, and me and Quinn hadn't exactly been holding scholarly discussions since then.

Not anxious to begin, I glanced at Legolas.

The blond elf was preparing a morning meal, consisting of squirrel, a crumbling ration of Lembas bread that had been in his tunic pocket for the Valar knows how long, and an abundance of greenery he'd harvested from around our fire. He moved quickly and silently, utterly absorbed in the task at hand.

Even his simplest motions held the noble bearings of a prince. Would there ever be a spear strong enough to pierce the perfect armor of Legolas?

Deceit. Trickery. Evil. Yet, having faced those countless times before, one becomes uncaring, aloft. Untouchable, even if one uses those tactics. Yes, I was going to have to use my wits with this one.

I lifted my chin, calling haughtily to the prince. "Legolas, where ever did you learn such wondrous healing skills? I don't believe I was ever tutored in the art of medicine in Eryn Lasgalen." Okay. Tone it down. One could almost hear the desperation leaking through my ploy.

Legolas straightened and he turned to me, eyes cool with platinum hair glinting. "What it is you really wish to say, Jevryn?"

I wouldn't have bought it either, I found myself admitting in grim amusement. I kept my expression serious as I asked. "Why rescue me _and_ tend to my wounds like a servant rushing to his master's aid?" I meant to mock him, to get him to show some emotion, any emotion, but to no effect.

"You don't see it?" For a moment, I swore I saw surprise flicker across Legolas' face. "There is a need for you, Haldaer."

I rolled my eyes, having picked up the human habit from Quinn. "A need for the money on my head? How much is it this time? Perhaps a new throne for your ada's hall with a new bow to boot?"

Legolas' eyes narrowed. "For you."

He was obviously not a conversationalist. Or at least not a very good one.

"And who beckons me, thinking I will come like a dog to a bone. And with what cause?" I demanded, irritation threatening my good sense.

"I do. And with the hope of saving my people." Legolas' eyes darkened at me ferociously. "I pray you will not dream of hindering that, Haldaer."

"Sooth your temper, prince, and realize this," I leaned forward the few inches I could, glaring at him vehemently. "I will never help your people."

Anger twisted Legolas' features like a stone thrown into a calm pool, rippling outward in overlapping waves and I thought he would strike me down, but then his face smoothed back into the even, controlled expression he normally wore, and the ripples receded into the still water.

"I understand." His voice was softer than it had been. "The elves have hurt you, Jevryn, and justice will be awarded, but only to those who deserve it."

"Then who, if not me, deserves it, Legolas?" I snarled.

"It is not a matter of past wrongs, it is a matter of present actions." The statement was bold and ringing and had a point, if I'd bothered to think about it at that moment.

"All right." I took a deep breath, crisp, clean air refreshing my lungs. My life had spiraled out of my grasp and was drifting further and further away with every word out of Legolas' mouth. Yet, as little as I knew about elves in general, I knew they would respect a calm-and-collected individual rather than a spitfire. "I an aware that I owe you a debt for healing my wound, but it is not great enough to encompass me to follow you around Middle Earth to save my enemy from their enemy."

"Yes. But you an elf, Jevryn, and they would not stay their blades even for a rogue elf."

Disgusted, I ignored that and plowed on. "Why do you need me? Would not any elf do?"

"Ai, but that is the point isn't it?" His eyes gleamed. "You are not any elf, Jevryn."

"Then throw another elfmaid out of Eryn Lasgalen and wait a few centuries; you'll have your heroine." I knew I was being difficult, childish and obstinate, but it was simply outrageous and rather ironic that the elves, particularly an elf prince, would come and seek me for help after all these years.

"You have become very human throughout the years, that much is obvious." Legolas turned away to tend to the fire, but his tone had lightened.

I wouldn't even get into that with him. "Naturally. Now what exactly is threatening your people?"

Legolas proceeded to weave a fantastic tale full of some sort of "dark elves" from "beyond Valinor" with a passionate desire to slaughter all elven kind. He claimed Sauron was responsible for this corruption, wishing to rid of the elves because of their impressive prowess that might be the only thing that could prevent him from rising again.

"Sauron? The one that Isildur..." I shook my head in disbelief. "We fought with the humans in that battle, we were just as easy to obliterate then, why should that change?"

Legolas didn't respond immediately, instead he handed me a large, waxy leaf that had the food he'd been prepared arrayed across it. I dug in, polishing off the light meal in a matter of five minutes.

When I had finished, Legolas continued. "Yes, but when Sauron regains power, it will likely take him a certain span of time to return to his full might."

"I cannot see the elves massing together and attacking just like that."

"I agree. Our people most likely would not make it in time to prepare a blow against Sauron. But we still have some powerful forces among us. Lady Galadriel, Elrond and Celeborn, for example. And Sauron would not take any chances."

"So this is what your father assumes." I could hardly believe this. "That is why you were speaking to Haldir. Exchanging ideas on how to save Lothlorïen and Eryn Lasgalen?"

"There is not much to talk about but that. The matter is kept very quiet, strictly to the court and my father's advisors, and likewise in Imladris and Lothlorïen."

"Haldir is rather a low-ranking elf to be alerted of that."

"Lady Galadriel trusts him." Legolas met my eyes. "So, Haldaer. Can we trust you?"

I stared back insolently, privately wishing I could move away from the intensity of his gaze. "Unfortunately, no. My sincere apologies, princeling, but I will be making my way to a town and hopefully forgetting I ever saw you." Mustering my wavering strength, I heaved myself up, legs shaking.

The ground seemed to buck and wobble beneath me. The hazy light of the fire sprang in front of me, nearly blinding my weary eyes with its brilliance. Shunning Legolas' proffered hand, I staggered away, mind spinning with thoughts that made me dizzy just thinking about them.

Dark elves, twisted by magic. A fate too cruel... By the Valar, I needed a large pint of something cool.

It wasn't until I was a solid two hours into my journey that I noticed Legolas trailing behind me. He was in plain sight, walking tall. Let him follow me. Maybe I could get those debts off my back.

We traveled for less than a day out of the patch of forest over the windy plains with its swaying yellow grass and rolling hills. Not a word was passed between us.

Soon, when the sun was dipping low on the pink horizon, we came to a town of what seemed to be farmers. It was rough, the well-worn houses made of dark oak, the inhabitants dressed in shabby fabrics and dull hues. It was full of good nature and carelessness, so no one cared about a pair of elves straggling in.

My boots seemed too small for my feet as I limped through the merchants barking at me, their voices ringing in my ears. Too much noise pounded inside my skull and I found myself falling behind Legolas, letting him delve a path through the mob.  
I had never liked crowds, but this was mad. Pain shot through my shoulder when someone jostled into it, which was every other moment.

Misery swamped me, the furious onslaught of senses making it impossible to think, and I dove off to the side of the packed road, shoving people off me with an irritated thrashing.

I couldn't save the world; I could barely fight my way through a village street! Using a doorframe for much-needed support, I took a second to steady myself, breathing in shallow gasps.

A hand clasped my shoulder and I brushed Legolas' hand away, a headache springing up behind my eyes as I strode inside the building. Legolas remained by my side, but reluctantly. Elves are not exactly fond of drinking and that was all that was happening in this inn.

With boisterous laughter and drinks all around, the inn was brimming with farmers fresh from the plow and ready to drown themselves in good spirits. I guess that was a good thing, considering I needed to slip in unnoticed, but none of this improved my throbbing headache.

Sick to my stomach, I made my way to a mercifully empty table and collapsed on a ancient wooden chair that looked like it could've come from Gondor. The air was warm and smelled like ale.

Without a word to me, Legolas slipped away. Miserably, I watched him briefly speak to the man behind the counter and jog easily up a staircase near the back of the room.  
Good for him. Off to find a room no doubt.

I lowered my head to rest on the splintery tabletop. Less work for me if he wanders off. Shouldn't be in here anyways, Quinn always said it was stupid to pull something like this in plain sight.

Something snagged my eye. Two tables away, a hooded figure rose, tall and lean, walking smoothly in my direction.

I knew an elf when I saw one. What was it this time? Raising my head, I set my jaw and waited for the elf to make its way over.

Soon enough, it stood in front of me, ten long fingers with clear nails resting delicately on the table.

Saucily, I looked up. "How may I help you?"

A blur of silver flashed out of nowhere and buried itself in the table, a couple inches away from my hand. So it was _that _kind of meeting.

Not surprisingly, only the occupants of the tables closest to us noticed the knife throw and edged away in their seats. The rest of the inn was chattering away obliviously.

"What do you want? I'm in no mood for subtleties." I eyed the cloaked elf coldly, using my healthy arm to yank the knife from the wood and held it between my fingertips, admiring it with false interest.

The elf whipped back her hood and I recoiled, slamming the knife down on the table. "Tauriel."

The head of the Greenwood Guard and a close confidant of the king's, Tauriel was more than proficient in all types of warfare. A little younger than me, she had always displayed the image of being pleasant and kind, but she could be ruthless. In my opinion, she'd always taken her rank far too seriously.

She had rich, chestnut-colored hair and hazel eyes that were glaring at me with bitter loathing.

"Haldaer. It has been long since our last meeting."

"Yes, I do not recall you being in the courtroom at the time of my banishment. Now what do you want?" I growled.

"Legolas is gone. We know you have him." Tauriel's eyes flashed down at me. "Did you take us for fools?"

I made a noise of derision. "Do not make me shame you by answering that truthfully."

Contrary to my arrogance, I was actually extremely shocked to see an elf here, of all places. Yet the reason why she was here did not surprise me at all. Although, it was a little presumptuous of them to immediately target me.

Tauriel clenched a fist and pounded it down on the table. I could see her struggling to remain civil. "You do not realize the gravity of the situation. Where is the prince?"

"How should I know? But do allow me to present my congratulations for locating me here." I sneered at her. "There are not many who can."

"We were stopping by to purchase some provisions when we saw two figures that resembled you and Legolas, oddly enough."

"We were not together." I stated, glancing over at the table Tauriel had come from. "Who are your companions?"

Tauriel looked over and beckoned the pair with a quick word in Sindarin. They circled the table, surrounding me, both hooded and silent, under the spell of their commander.

"You insult me." I twisted in my chair, to throw a glance at the new company.

"You wished to meet them." Tauriel spread her hands innocently. "This is Hacril and Lywen."

Lywen was unfamiliar to me, but Hacril was around my age and I remembered him to be a worthy warrior.

They simultaneously removed their hoods. Lywen was a beauty, with cascading golden-blond hair, a gentle face and bright, lively green eyes. Hacril was thin-faced, with straight brunette hair and darker, emerald-green eyes. Both of their expressions were solemn. Lywen was staring resolutely ahead, while Hacril watched me with sorrow in his eyes.

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance." I said sarcastically, "Now I would be extremely grateful if you would leave me alone."

"We will let you go this once, Haldaer, but beware our next confrontation." Tauriel's eyes burned down at me and snatched her knife off the table and sheathed it with a swift jerk. She stalked out of the inn with Lywen at her heels, an admiring light in her gaze.

Hacril paused besides me. He studied me meticulously, and then spoke mildly, his stare locked on me. "Jevryn, they are watching you. I would be wary of whatever is in your room. Keep it close."

"If it doesn't give me a reason to kill it..." I let my voice trail off menacingly and waved a hand in dismissal. "Follow your commander, Hacril."

A half-smile played with his lips, and then he was gone, the door swinging after him. I remained tense, listening as hard as I could.

As soon as I could hear their footsteps no more, I darted up and took the stairs three at a time, finding my heart beating to the rhythm of an invisible war drum. For, although the prince had once been a task, a chore, to complete, he was now my fellow runaway, a sort of companion. I cared nothing for him, but perhaps I was growing to respect him. One can respect a worthy foe.

Legolas was standing at the window, closing the dusty beige curtains. He didn't face me as he stated, "It appears our stay had ended before it began."


	9. Chapter 9

For a moment, the power of speech failed me and I was left gaping like a hooked trout. Then anger provided me with words. How dare he presume he was my companion? I did not need him! "There is no 'our'. I will be staying here, but I believe you now have escorts to guide you home. Hence, there is no reason for you to say."

I needed time to think, to process what had come over me the past few days. I needed to melt back into the shadows; no petty prince was worth being hunted by forces so wretched even I could not overpower them. He had successfully brought bandits, orcs and his fellow elves down on me, he was simply not worth the risk at this point.

Legolas had not moved a muscle, he was watching me coolly, as if I was speaking another language.

I swung open the door, staring him down ferociously with my temper seething. "Leave."

"I cannot." His smooth, lilting voice was firm and made it clear that he was obviously not going to make this easier on himself.

I took a step forward, limbs almost shaking in rage. "If I was going to help you, I would've done so already! Now get out before I push you out of that window myself!"

And he was gone. With a sweep of his dark tan cloak, he brushed past me in complete silence. I closed the door behind him, nearly taken aback that he had complied, yet I did not question it.

Stepping wearily to the small bed in the corner of the room, I lowered myself to the mattress. I was not accustomed to such accommodations. Despite the ruckus downstairs, it was a pleasant, if not confined space.

My sore body begged me to rest, but I needed to tend to my weapons and strategize before I did anything, otherwise I could not sleep a wink later on.

Unslinging my bow and quiver, I laid them besides me, checking my arrow count, which was satisfactory- not one missing. My sword and knife were both in tact and well-sharpened. However, I did need a new cloak. Ripped and bloodied, it wouldn't hold out much longer; so I resolved to make a trip down to a shop and find some material to repair it, or perhaps locate a new one.

Strapping my weapons back on, I kicked off my boots and rolled to my side, letting out my breath forcefully.

Legolas had better not tell his friends whom he was with. Worry invaded my heart. Would he? I was not certain. If he did, I would have to look forward to another violent night.

Shutting my eyes, I told myself not to even consider that.

The throbbing, pale light of the sunset pressed against my eyelids, making it harder to fall asleep. I slowed my breathing, trying to convince my body that it was night.

My shoulder ached relentlessly as I laid there, not allowing me to relax completely. Finally, I conceded defeat and rose, unwrapping my wound. It was cleaner, but still ugly to look at. I retied the bandage tighter around it and was about to sit down again, when I realized I had another wound to nurse.

The scrape on my upper arm from the struggle at the slave caravans. I fixed that with a piece of fresh cloth, finding it healing nicely.

When that task was finished, I decided I might as well take care of some other things while I was up.

I knocked the dirt off my boots, braided my hair again, and washed my hands and face in the washbowl by the water pitcher conveniently placed next to the door. For a rare moment, I felt clean and refreshed.

Lumbering over to the bed, I dropped to it like a sack of flour falling off a man's shoulders. Sleep slipped over me the very moment I closed my eyes, a beautiful mercy.

**Legolas' POV**

Naturally, I was upset with Jevryn, and had she'd been any other being, I would've argued with her until she saw the truth in my reasoning. Yet, I knew I had to tread with care in her presence; the fate of my kingdom was at stake.

The stairs creaked as I descended, back into the raucous bar. Eyes flashing around from under my hood, I strode through the mass of humans, sensing the curiosity of their gaze being drawn to me.

Making my exit as subtle as possible, I stepped away from the threshold, surveying the streets for the glint of the too-bright eyes of my kin.

Not even my own eyes could pinpoint them amongst the insanity. Frustrated, I plunged into the crowd and strode through the mass of humans in the direction I had seen the trio of elves walking from Jevryn's window.

Contacting them would be an undesirable meeting, but it was essential. Narrowing my eyes against the current of the crowd, I saw three tall, hooded figures off to the side, conversing.

Intent on listening, I meandered to the opposite side of the road. Keeping my eyes locked on the figures, I allowed myself to drift away from the irritating sounds that were preventing me from hearing the elves' conversation, and concentrated.

"She was lying, that much is obvious." A youthful, female voice spoke with canny directness.

"One can never tell with the Shadowed One." A tenor voice uttered in a peaceful undertone.

"Take pause and think from a new angle, both of you." A sharper, commanding female voice ordered. "She's not an elf anymore."

"But she is. She is aware of our kind, Tauriel, she still has the memories of her childhood." The male voice stated.

"All of which are tainted by her wretched parents." The first voice scorned.

"Silence, Lywen. Displaying your ignorance is a hindrance, not a blessing." The second female voice turned thoughtful. "Perhaps she is telling the truth."

A sound of contempt from Lywen. "I would check her living quarters. Who knows how long she's been here? She could've hidden him somewhere."

"Did you look at her? Exhausted and road-worn. She'd just arrived." The male voice reasoned.

"Even if all these speculations are correct, we are not checking her room." Tauriel decided, her tone adamant. "Haldaer is not the only evil in Middle Earth; we must continue to search for our prince in different lands."

Now there was an issue. How to present myself to them? Double back and pretend I was searching for them, under the pretense that I'd be attacked by orcs and had only just escaped. It was feasible enough; I had indeed been captured by orcs around this area.

I trailed back, and then fought my way forward at a halting jog, raising my head above the crowd in hopes of being noticed faster.

As planned, Tauriel saw me, her hazel eyes widening. I gave her a courteous nod and began to push against the humans harder, as if to try and reach her.

Immediately, Tauriel snapped at Hacril and Lywen and they dodged through the humans, flanking me and creating a wider path.

As soon as I reached her, Tauriel inclined her head respectfully, her demeanor completely switched from a proud general into a contrite maiden. "Mae govannen, my prince."

"Mae govannen Tauriel. Hacril, Lywen." I made eye contact with each of them, to which they made little bows. Lywen's expression matched her captain's, while Hacril's was curiously blank, an odd thing, but one I could not investigate further. "It is to my joy that I have found you at last."

"Were you held prisoner by the traitor, Haldaer?" Tauriel's expression hardened into a cold mask and she placed a hand on the hilt of her sword.

I kept my composure, eyeing her. "Nay. My predicament is not a subject I would wish to discuss here."

"Of course." She turned crisply and walked into the crowd in the direction I had come from.

I followed her silently, with Hacril and Lywen struggling to keep up at my heels. The captain of the Eryn Lasgalen guard cut a precise path through the confusion as efficiently as if she was brandishing a sword.

We proceeded through the town with no resistance, leading me to believe Jevryn was keeping out of sight. Well past nightfall, we stopped at the top of a hill, out of sight of the village.

"Prince?" Tauriel prompted me, the polite invitation contradicting the calculating look in her eye.

I straightened my shoulders and gazed down at her with equally sharp eyes. "I was prepared for a hunting trip on the borders of Eryn Lasgalen and neared my destination when I was ambushed by orcs. They carried me as far as the forest over the horizon, then, last night, I escaped by the fairest of luck; a cord in my bounds was loose."

"Not the boldest of escapes, but one that will have to do." Tauriel remarked, nothing but a polite evenness in her voice.

I inclined my head smoothly in agreement, and Tauriel continued, "I know you mentioned not encountering the outcast by the name of Haldaer, but is it possible you caught a glimpse of her?"

"I did not." I replied coolly. "I believe we should resume our journey." Taking the lead, I faced the dark smudge of forest on the horizon that was my homeland and walked on.

The others fell in behind me, which I was accustomed to, but did not necessarily like. The rank of a leader was one that I was born and raised into and it came naturally, yet I was often reluctant to assume it. If I'd had a choice in the matter, I'd much rather be in the thick of the fight, rather than perched on a turret watching my companions fight with nothing but words to aid them with.

The moon hung above our heads, an ever-present comfort in the opaque darkness. The stars joined it, blinking into existence. Cool and light to the touch, the air stirred gently around us, almost sighing in content.

I found myself unable to agree with it. I was leading my kin back to the same trouble I had left them in with no solution to present. The solution lay in the country town I had just departed.

As the night wore on, I could not find an answer. We walked into the dawn, my boots almost pressing into the earth, warning me to turn back.

Finally, I called for a rest. Pulling away from the others, I stood, staring at the sunrise with haunted eyes. A hopeless sunrise, a meaningless beginning to another one of the precious days before the elves fell.

No. This would not be the end. Never again would I doubt, for those who lose hope, lose any chance of victory.

Turning around to my companions, I surveyed them calmly, finding them fit enough to continue except for that suspicious blur over the hill...

"Orcs." I said softly, then louder, "Orcs!"

Tauriel's head snapped around and she sprang to her feet, sword already in hand. Hacril and Lywen stepped into position behind her, half-crouching, and I drew my bow, fitting an arrow to the drawstring, sending an arrow flying over their heads and into the line of orcs rapidly approaching. A simple formation learned in Eryn Lasgalen which came naturally to all of us as breathing.

An Orc tumbled to the earth, tripping up a few of his fellows, who roared in annoyance, armor clunking as they staggered.

Five more arrows soared from my bow before the time to charge was nigh and I leapt forward in a sprint, still holding my bow and shot two more close range arrows.

Around me, Tauriel ducked under an orc's blade and brought her own around to slice off its head neatly.

I hopped over a swinging, spiked mace and avoided a barrage of arrows, then I swung my bow on my back and drew my long knives for hand to hand combat, whirling into the heart of the action. The Orcs' crude armor made it easy for me to find the chinks while successfully dodging any attacks around me.

Deep into the battle, Lywen collided into me, and I maneuvered my weight to catch her, evading a death blow from the brute I'd been dueling and freeing a hand to stab him in the shoulder. He howled and reeled back, clutching his bloodied limb. Lywen's brilliant green eyes were staring into mine with shock, blood spilling across her cheek and clumping her waved blond hair from a wound on her temple.

Approaching me with a stupid grin of triumph across its ugly features, was a gigantic Orc, a long, curved sword gripped in its gnarled fist.

Setting Lywen down as easily as I could, I rose, glaring down the monster. He guffawed at me, moist, stinking breath wafting down.

One light footstep was all the warning I had as someone barged past me, flinging itself at the giant.

Lywen had tackled the beast, and she'd hit it in the chest with her sword. It roared, enraged and swung a hand, missing Lywen completely and slamming into my abdomen.

Coughing, I managed to recover in seconds, but that was enough time for the other orcs to close in and not enough time for me to force a shout through my throat...


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: That was quite a long prologue, wasn't it? If it seems like we're just getting into the story... you're pretty much correct. Except for the fact that the earlier chapters contain most of the backstory and you'd be awfully confused if you didn't read them. :)**

I steadied myself, adrenaline racing, as the last Orc fell to the ground with a resounding thud. Thick, dark Orcish blood dripped from my knives from where they were poised in my grip.

I had narrowly escaped, but with incredibly swift actions, I had managed to slaughter the orcs around me and Lywen without any harm to either of us.

Rasping breathing of dying orcs filled my ears and I straightened my back, glancing around at the grim result of our skirmish. Carcasses lay scattered about, not a single beast was spared.

Walking from foe to fallen foe, I began the tedious process of retrieving my arrows.  
"Legolas!" Tauriel's voice was tight, a note of panic invading her tone.

I spun on my heel towards her, ignoring the rest of the arrows, and immediately ran forward, dropping into a crouch at her side.

Hacril was laying, limbs contorted and tense, with his scarlet blood staining the grass. His eyes stared glassily up, alert, but barely responsive when I moved above him.

I gazed down at him, eyes narrowed in concern. "What happened?"

Tauriel didn't speak, indicating a swiftly-spreading blood-soaked area on the left of Hacril's chest. I ground my jaw at my helplessness, eyes flicking over him.

"He needs help." Lywen said shakily, her face pale as she looked down at her prone companion.

"He does, but we should be able to give him time by applying pressure to stem the bleeding." Tauriel instructed, laying her slender hands on the injury and pressing down.

I stood, unfastening my cloak and swinging it around to pass to Lywen. "This may come of use. I am going to run to the town to gather some supplies."

Tauriel twisted her head around to look at me with a mixture of approval and worry. "Are you wounded?"

"No." I consoled her, meeting her gaze.

"Good." She turned her attention back to Hacril. "May your journey be swift, Greenleaf." The dismissal was clear in her voice.

I sprinted off across the grass without another second's pause, the grass making a quiet, dry whisking sound as I ran through it. Determination gave me strength enough to complete my mission with renewed energy, bolting across the plains as if I could run through anything.

Eventually, a buzzing settled in my ears, and all I could hear was the swishing grass, and my own thumping heartbeats and steady breathing. This race held the weight of a life; it mattered not how my lungs began to ache or any other sort of trivial pains. Not in the face of death.

It was mid to late afternoon when I returned to the town. Slowing to a jog, I trotted through the streets, considerably less crowded now, since the farmers were slaving under the sun.

My thoughts flickered to the Shadowed One, recuperating from her own ordeal in the privacy of her room at the inn. Now was not the time. I had neither the patience, nor the set of mind to exchange verbal blows; Hacril's limp body was an ever present image, reminding me of the severity of the situation.

But something did not seem right. A shadow dwelled in my mind, unbalancing my reason. Easing up into a walk, I stared ahead without seeing. Doubt joined the shadow shrouding my soul, and my eyes wandered of their own accord, locking onto Jevryn's window. The curtains were drawn and I could not sense movement.

Clenching my jaw, I made my decision and ran lightly on. I made a direct line to the inn, ducking my head to enter the low doorframe.

"Jevryn?" I called into the gentle gloom hanging over the interior of the inn that was not touched by the sunlight streaming in from the door.

"Can I help you, laddie?" The innkeeper queried, the dishrag in his hand still steadily swabbing the surface of the table with a practiced motion.

I did not reply at first, engaged in a mental battle as to whether I should press on and embark on an unknown quest, or turn back and help a kinsman. This had a peculiar sense of finality; as if whatever I should decide now, would send ripples through the course of my life. It was an eerie feeling, at least, one that I would not be rid of immediately. Yet, this was a harsh situation to be dealt with, and it could not be taken lightly, which would explain my odd sense of foreboding. Whatever I did would affect my future, for if there was no present, there would be nothing afterward.

With one decisive shake of my head to clear my circling thoughts, I answered. "I am looking for someone. A dark-cloaked individual who keeps to herself. I believe she arrived here yesterday, at dusk?"

"Aye, she left. Headed that-a-way." The innkeeper lifted one grimy hand to the west.

"Thank you." I inclined my head towards him and reached into my pocket, withdrawing two coins and deftly tossing them across to the innkeeper, who caught them with greedy glee and awarded me with many thanks.

On my way out, I heard the innkeeper's throaty voice exclaim excitedly to one of his patrons; "Those elf-types we get 'round these parts, they may be strange folk, but they do pay well!"

"It was merely two coins." I murmured to myself in amusement and began to move off, part of me scorning the human's obsession over money, part of me focused on Jevryn's predicament, and the rest of me struggling to remember my comrade's impending doom.

Since when have I the kind of elf who would forget a close friend such as Hacril for a traitor who wishes nothing more for me to rot in a unmarked grave? Since when would I abandon my people?

Self-disgust swarmed me as I realized what I had been about to do and I cast my gaze at the dirt road, bitterness in my heart. Taking a moment to reevaluate my priorities had been the tonic for my confusion, it seemed. The path onward was clear as the skies of my beloved homeland on a blistering summer day, yet why did I not take it?

All of my actions thus far would lead me, quite literally, down a shadowed road. If I continued...the thought was unbearable. I forced myself to pause and attempt to locate a stand selling herbs, not allowing myself another second thought.

"Orcs! Orcs over the hill!" A panicked human's voice rang out throughout the streets, but I could not find the speaker, although I had no need, because the cry spread to the rest of the villagers.

They rushed around me like a river flowing around a jagged stone. I lunged and caught one by the shoulder; a young man who gazed at me with dumbfounded eyes.

"The orcs. Where are they?" I spoke clearly and precisely above the din, my grip firm on the boy's arm.

With a trembling finger, the youth pointed in the same direction the innkeeper had. "W-west."

My mind raced, but I gave him a tight nod and released him. He scampered off, but I paid him no mind.

My strides lengthened and before I was conscious of what I was doing, I was sprinting, running as fast as I had ran to the town, if not faster. The landscape of the town whirled by, and the air became a fierce wind against my face. All I knew was, I had to kill the orcs.

The flatland outside the town was wondrously easy to see through and I soon saw the unmistakable dark shape on the horizon. Jevryn, in all of her shadowed, ferocious glory, fighting for her life against perhaps a dozen, four-legged hulking forms. Wargs. The great, wolves of Mordor acted as the orcs' steeds, snapping at Jevryn's heels and thirsting for blood.

I should've known it was her. Although, at the same time, in the back of my mind, I had known with certainty that it could've been no one else...

As I drew near, I heard defiant shouts and furious snarls with the occasionally whimper.

Eventually, I stood before the gruesome scene, the orcs on their wretched steeds, and Jevryn, her cloak torn to shreds and her hood fallen back against her shoulders, with both her sword and knife in her hands. She would strike a warg's muzzle if a beast slunk too close, but otherwise she remained still, exhaustion overtaking her.

The orcs could sense their victory nearing, and were becoming more bold, forcing Jevryn to parry their attacks, both verbal and physical.

"Aiya, Jevryn Haldaer." I called out, eyeing the orcs as I unslung my bow.

She spun on me, her eyes shaded threateningly. "Gwanno ereb nin!"

In reply, I fired an arrow. It pierced a warg's eye socket, felling the brute and rendering an Orc mount-less. With an irritated roar, the Orc drew a curved sword, challenging me in its own twisted tongue.

That silenced the dark elf. Now she watched me, the guarded look still glittering in her gaze.

I saluted her with a nod, but did not speak, instead charged the orcs, putting away my bow and unsheathing my knives with the familiar rasp of metal on metal.

The Orc whose warg I had killed let out a garbled yell and met me, jabbing at me with his sword in a basic maneuver that would not fool me. I step sided and stabbed my own blade through his heart.

I lost myself in combat, spinning and diving and slashing with an abandon that I could rarely allow myself to slip into. Jevryn fought at my side, her own strange, yet exemplary fighting style more than a match for mine. We had trained together briefly, when we were both young in Eryn Lasgalen, but this went beyond more than simple formations and memorized sword swings; it was instinct, pure as the moon in the sky. It did not necessarily bring joy to me, but it awakened a feeling of kinship, of comprehension.

Much to my shame, Hacril was forgotten in this fascinating dance of death. And even when the dust began to settle around the corpses, I did not remember him.

Instead, I approached Jevryn, walking as if in a dream.

She turned to me, the sword in her hand bloodied, but the ferocity in her eyes fading to a mystified expression.

I looked at her with understanding, as if I had lived alongside her in those horrible years after her exile. The way she moved made sense now, a sorrowful kind of sense. The battle had shed light on this odd elf, and I knew it was her destiny to save my people.

Jevryn glanced at me, her chin high and her expression proud; not a hint of the confusion remained, and in a voice bearing grudging respect, she stated; "Mae govannen, Legolas."

Aiya, Jevyrn Haldaer: Hail, Jevryn Shadowed-One  
Gwenno ereb nin: Leave me alone  
Mae govannen: Well met


	11. Chapter 11

"Useless...orcs..." I struggled to find breath to speak my words of defiance, more than likely one of the final utterances I would procure.

A warg growled lowly and lunged at me, muscles rippling under his coarse marbled pelt. I slashed my knife through the air, clubbing the beast on the nose with the hilt, and as I pulled it down, the blade sliced thinly, leaving a slim line of red. All occurred in the span of one heartbeat.

A high-pitched whimper erupted from the warg and it skittered away, only to be steered back by an irked Orc.

I forced a mocking laugh through the haze of weariness clouding my senses. "Come now, control your dogs."

Another warg snapped its slavering jaws at me and charged, heavy paws thundering. The huge creature threatening to slam me into the earth as if I was an insect; just the weight of the thing soaring through the air made me cringe at the incoming pressure.  
I dropped to the ground, under the beast, and darted out behind it, thrusting my sword into the muscle of its back, and yanking it out, slick with blood, at the first agonized howl.

Feeling a rush of renewed confidence, I moved forward to behead the injured warg's rider, who was preoccupied with soothing the beast beneath him.

Moist, hot breath pressed against my neck, and ten obsidian knives pierced my shoulder blades, sliding a little and leaving fiery lashes of pain in their wake. In a bout of solid instinct, I jumped away, and the only 'away' happening to be the back of the warg I had stabbed. I clutched to the warg's fur, still soaked with fresh blood.  
I could feel massive jaws about to clamp around my neck, the edges of ivory canines digging into my skin, and knew I hadn't been fast enough. Yet, I was not about to surrender.

Reaching up with hands like lightning, I pried the jaws of the warg open and jerked my head out of the death trap with only minimal scratches on my neck where the teeth had begun to pierce my flesh.

Literally throwing myself to the ground, I rolled away a few feet, and then sprang to my feet, heart ramming against my rib cage as it realized how close it had come to stop beating.

The warg who had almost ripped my head from my shoulders was standing on its hind paws, forepaws resting against its wounded companion where I had been sitting, it's jowls dripping blood and its fangs bared in a scarlet grin.

I could feel blood trickling down my neck and upper back, minor wounds, but I did not wish to lose too much blood, which would be as effective as bringing death as a torn-out throat.

I raised my head and wielded my sword higher, letting the sun reflect off of whatever part of the blade was not drenched in blood. I gazed at it, jaw gritted, even as the wargs circled me, barking in triumph as their prey began to recognize her own bitter fate.

Was this all I had to show for my life? Death and sorrow, spread to the land? A cruel legacy when I had been handed nothing but misfortune, with nothing to give to others but the same.

"Aiya, Jevryn Haldaer." A well-known voice called and I spun on my heel in the direction of the unwanted speaker.

Legolas Greenleaf stood, bow in hand and a sharpness in his eyes as he stared over the land, his gaze searing into mine. His cloak was missing and the splendor of his clothes was dulled by the dust of the road, but he was there, looking for all the world as if he was about to lead his army into victory.

The wargs' ears pricked and they shuffled to look at their new opponent. I stared back at the prince coldly, scorning his presence. "Gwanno ereb nin!" I certainly did not want him here to witness my death.

His eyes sparked with a challenge and suddenly an arrow flew past, burying itself in the eye of the warg that had nearly decapitated me. It collapsed soundlessly and it's rider leapt off, cursing Legolas heatedly in the Black speech.

I narrowed my eyes at the princeling, who gave me a courteous nod rather unbefitting of the situation, and slung his bow on his back, unsheathing his knives. He began to run towards me and the wargs; he was going to attack.

My hand tightened on my sword, watching his agile movement with a hunger that had yet to be sated. This could be it; before I perished, my revenge could be complete.

Yet I could do nothing but observe as an Orc stepped up to met his doom under the blades of the Greenwood prince. He dropped to the earth and Legolas pushed on, meeting the next enemy with an infectious intensity.

Howling of the wargs and shouting of the orcs consumed me, and I whirled around, slitting the throat of an Orc, hearing his dying squeal, like a stuck pig.

I wove around the fighting, dodging and turning, warding off attempts on my life with frightening indifference. Unlike all the other battles I had fought with Legolas, I was fully awake and aware of the horrors surrounding me.

This time I dueled at his side. This time I knew nothing could touch us. A strange sense of security, not foolish cockiness reigned over me, something that I had forgotten from traveling with Quinn. But this carried even more weight to it. It held the ring of destiny, and I was not sure I liked it, but I knew I had no choice.

One last body crumpled in front of me and I stood still, glaring at the corpse, the fire of combat burning in my veins.

Footsteps, light as snowfall, sounded behind me, and I slowly faced Legolas, the silence of the aftermath pierced only by our breathing and the cries of the carrion birds.

The longer I looked at the prince, the more I wondered at what had just occurred. My eyes questioned him, but I could not bring myself to say anything.

His own eyes held sympathy, not pity, but a compassionate understanding that, ran over me in the cooling light of his sky-blue eyes.

The first in the centuries, besides Quinn, to give me, a traitorous ranger with too much anger in her heart, a simple chance, to take or leave. A proud question, between two who understood each other.

I respected him for that, albeit if it was just because fate was calling me to do so against my will.

Indeed, he needed someone to help his people; I could've very well been just a pawn in a greater game, but what I just experienced led me to believe we were the participants in a quest to come.

So I tilted my head back, eyeing him. "Mae govannen, Legolas."

A slight smile that was barely more than a upturning of the corner of his mouth brightened the prince's face. "Mae govannen, Jevryn."

I gave him a small nod, still a sorry hand at the courteous nature of the elves. Silence followed, with me unsure of how to break it.

His attention caught, Legolas abruptly crouched, the smile disappearing from his features, and peered at the carcass at my feet. "These seem to be of the same kind that assaulted Tauriel's group."

I honestly felt no pity for the captain of Greenwood, so I held my peace, except to say stiffly, "Do you still intend to return to Eryn Lasgalen?"

Legolas glanced up with a glimmer of amusement as if he knew exactly what irritated me, but that spark quickly faded into dark concern as he spoke. "Nay. I am indebted to one of my comrades. He fell in the battle when the orcs attacked us. I must send supplies."

"Hacril?" I asked quietly, remembering the sincerity on the brunette elf's face as he tried to warn me back at the inn.

"Yes." Legolas rose, looking over my shoulder at the town I knew lay beyond the plains.

Before I uttered anything, Legolas cast another piercing glance at me. "I understand your ordeal. You are free to leave; I will not make you travel with me to my kin."

Looking away to bite back a sarcastic comment that explained that he would never cause me to do anything against my will, I took a moment to regain my composure. "Naturally. I will warn you though; Tauriel will not return to Greenwood without her prince. And if you go back to tend to Hacril, she will not let you leave."

Legolas narrowed his eyes. "I thought Tauriel was simply a loyal warrior."

I gave him a look. "Do not play stupid, princeling. Her loyalty exceeds boundaries, that much is clear, but there is more than a little ambition in her, if you were to ask my opinion."

"I would not, due to the fact that I know you aren't partial to Tauriel's character." Legolas answered my sharp statement with an equally barbed comment, which I found incredibly annoying.

"Let us make one thing clear, prince." I snapped at him, forgetting, in the heat of the moment, that I almost thought I respected this elf not five moments before. Stepping forward, I glared at him. "I do not know you. I do not care to know you. We are barely companions, little more than enemies. Do not presume that I will not kill you because of a clever little stunt you came up with."

"Of course." Smooth as a slippery snake winding through a river!

"Now, do you want to know what I suggest?" I had no idea why I continued barreling on like this.

"Indeed."

"Go back to the town, purchase some medicine and send it off by horseback to your company of elves!" I was practically shouting in his face now. Breathing hard, I stepped back, forcing myself to calm down.

"An excellent idea. Would you care to come with me?" Legolas asked, his tone as light and casual as if he was discussing the weather, although I could've sworn I saw a smirk in his eyes.

I could've cut off his miserable head in that very moment, yet, I controlled myself enough to mutter. "Why ever not?"

Together, we sent off a bundle of supplies to where Legolas said the elves would be, and would've stayed in the town, except I insisted we kept moving. At sundown, we found a suitable place to camp in the shelter of one of the straggling trees. We had not yet made it out of the plains.

I was adding dry leaves to the dying embers as Legolas was out collecting wood, which he may or may not have done on purpose to give me time to recollect my senses.

I had lost control earlier, which I considered unacceptable, especially in present company. And before that, the battle we'd won... I tossed a few leaves into the flames, watching the heat devour them.

I needed to hang on to my soul, or it might slip away. I was losing control, and that very thought made my hands shake.

Was I afraid of the prince? No. I took a deep breath. I had to be brutally honest with myself. I was... afraid of the prospect of the prince. That I was going to be let down again, thrown out like a dog eating scraps off the table. He was too obscure. I could not see past what he was portraying to the rest of world; a quiet, confident prince willing to die for his people.

Quinn had been different. He was a fellow outcast, someone that I could speak to without worrying about... anything.

That was it. I was becoming far too emotional. Legolas was simply someone that... I didn't quite know what we were meant to do, but it was surely something.

I prodded the fire with a long branch, and watched, entranced, as it spit sparks. It was apparent I was not able to be rid of the prince. So I was going to have to endure.  
Lowering myself to the ground, I stared up at the darkening sky until I heard footsteps.

Legolas set down his bundle of firewood and sat down across from me, his flaxen blond hair shining in the firelight.

Neither of us spoke, until I, silently swearing to myself that I would remain civil, said quietly, "These shadowed elves you spoke of... what are their names?"

"They call themselves the Heseköl." Legolas met my eyes across the flames, memories like shadows in his irises.

"That is of no language I know." I shifted slightly.

"We believe they made it up themselves." He turned his eyes away, gazing into the fire. "They threaten to destroy us. They have no reason. No reason we can comprehend."

"The Heseköl." I repeated, disliking the foreign syllables on my tongue.

Legolas remained silent for a few more moments filled with crackling flames, and then, "They are people of shadows. One touch from them..." He shook his head the slightest bit, leaving the effects of the Heseköls' grasp up to my imagination.

I grimaced and opened my mouth to speak-

"Heseköl? Who speaks of their kind?" A powerful voice boomed, raspy and imposing.  
I jumped up, bristling with my hand on my knife.

"Who goes there?"  
"Who goes there?"

Both Legolas' and my voice rang out, challenging the speaker. I glanced at him, but he was staring out into the depths of the darkness, tense and ready for action.

The voice was completely unfazed and answered candidly. "Why, Gandalf the Grey, of course! Legolas Greenleaf, you surprise me, lad. I would've thought you would've recognized an old wizard who has visited your father's court many-a-time! Jevryn Haldaer, you on the hand, I haven't seen since you were but a child."


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: The goat character is dedicated to my friend, Sarah. :) Also, in hindsight of the previous chapter, I realized I didn't know Gandalf's age. He's always been pretty timeless to me- same look, same type of involvement - and he's friends with Elrond, who's pretty old himself. So, seeing this is just a fanfic, let's say he has the lifespan of an elf.**

Startled, I searched for Gandalf's ghost-like grey figure in the gloom. Sure enough, he was looming behind both me and Legolas; both of us were squinting in the general direction of west.

I backed up warily, accidentally brushing against Legolas' shoulder, flinched away skittishly, and almost caught my cloak on fire.

Whisking it out of the danger of the flames, I mentally chastised myself for my idiotic agitation and faced Gandalf with a perfectly serious face.

I knew of Gandalf, and was aware of his powers, but until I encountered him face to face, he reminded me of the Valar, strong and mighty, yet possibly a child's tale.  
Now, I hardly knew what to think of him, except to keep my weapons close at my side.

The Grey Wizard was watching me with a carefully oblivious, cheerful expression. "There's a fire there, in case you didn't know." He lifted a hand from his knotted wooden staff to indicate the flames. Gandalf was tall and lean, dressed in pale grey with a crooked, pointed hat. His face was heavily wrinkled and his back was slightly bent, the only indications of his age. A tangled grey beard and mustache rested on his chest. Sly ice-blue eyes and a drooping nose completed his features.

"Mithrandir." Legolas dropped to one knee with ease, his head bowed in respect. I remained unbowed; this human had nothing to earn my reverence except featuring in a collection of fairy tales, which weren't worthy of any note.

"Yes, yes, get up lad." The old wizard waved a hand airily. "There's a great deal to discuss."

I resisted the compelling urge to smirk in childish satisfaction as Legolas stood proudly, gazing at Gandalf with a question in his eyes.

"What is this creature with you, Mithrandir?"

Creature? I slanted my eyes at the space around the wizard. A small, delicate form huddled next to Gandalf, patched with black and white. It moved oddly, as if it was unsure of itself and a pair of glittering, deep brown eyes watched me.

"Creature? I was once a human, pointy-ear." A bleating, irked voice retorted and the creature's mouth moved in time with the words.

I gritted my teeth and slid my sword a little out of the sheath at the insult. "Do not tell me that is a goat speaking."

"Oh yes. Allow me to introduce Derce, son of William." Gandalf glanced down at the feeble little barnyard animal. "He's journeying with me until we find a solution to his... problem."

Was it too late to send them away into the night? I snuck a glance at Legolas. He was still staring at Gandalf, enraptured. Evidently it was.

Sighing softly, I turned away from the ridiculous scene and set to cleaning my sword; it was the first time I would consider myself the practical one in any situation.

I proceeded to tend to the weapons while Legolas guided the wizard to a comfortable patch of earth besides the fire and exchanged pleasantries. The goat trotted primly at Gandalf's side, his cloven hooves barely audible against the cushioning ground.

Withdrawing into myself, I polished with an automatic motion, not really thinking about it. It began to lull me, the familiar action reminding me of better times, times when I had more sleep, if not anything else.

"Your realm is well...expect of course, the Heseköl." Gandalf's voice, full of importance, lowered cautiously. Legolas was leaning forward intently, his expression a cold, unreadable mask.

This was more than a little absurd. Wiping a smear of dirt off the blade of my knife, I mumbled under my breath in Sindarin, voicing my doubts.

"Jevryn, this affects you more than anyone here." Gandalf called, his tone suddenly serious.

I ceased my cleaning and looked up, glaring at him through the fuzziness in my vision. "If it affects me, I should have the choice of whether I want to listen or not. And, frankly, I do not wish to waste away on another wretched quest if it is anything like the past few days."

I could feel the heat of Legolas' frustration, but I ignored it, possessing no desire for a fight, even as he said with his voice hard as stone. "They are a very real threat. As illogical as they may seem, a threat is a threat, no matter what conceives it."

"Quite right." Gandalf gave him an approving nod. "And Jevryn, your obstinate attitude does you no good." His spoke heavily, his voice wrought with a warning.

I did not deign to answer, instead rising, staring off into the ebony horizon. "I shall return before the peak of the moon's rise." Then I strode off without a backward glance, the sigh of the whispering night air swirling around me. I paced well away from the fire, wearing down the grass underfoot with a fervor.

I could not do this. I could not play this role of the heroine, I wanted nothing to do with this. And yet I could not leave the prince, even if I wanted to, it seemed. Who did they think I was?

"Jevryn." The lilting tenor of Legolas' voice rose gently in the still air, and I glanced over at him, too weary to feel any more anger.

"Legolas." I responded, watching his blurry form. He stood, shoulders back and hands clasped in front of him placidly, watching me appraisingly, as if he was examining a fine piece of armor he was considering bidding on. His frustration was apparently gone, and replaced with haughtiness that I suspected he'd inherited from his father.

"What do you expect of me?" The words exploded from me desperately, and I took a step forward on trembling legs. "I understand I was the instigator, it was I who wished you dead, but now I wish nothing but your absence from my life!"

Legolas didn't stir, although his gaze flashed cobalt fire. "You know what occurred in the battle. We are destined to fight together."

"Against these creatures of myth, the Heseköl?" I narrowed my eyes in derision. "I have fought the majority of the evil in Middle Earth, and I have yet to encounter these."

"They are unknown to the elves too."

I knew what he was going to say. "And yet you fight them."

"It is our duty to our kin and our land." He made it sound so simple, when I was fully aware it was not.

"I have no fealty to either of those." My voice faded away, lacking my usual self-assurance in my disturbed state of mind.

"You do, Jevryn." His accent, the same one I had, rolled over my name, enhancing the Elven sound of the syllables. "What your parents did should not have affected you. I apologize for my father's rash actions. You have always been linked to the land, driven into it." His voice carried an assortment of emotions; sympathy, sorrow, anger, regret...

"My parents..." I stared at him, too stunned to move. In his face, the way he moved, I saw the elf who had saved my life, the elf I was set on slaughtering. Legolas held no grudge to what my parents tried to do to him and his family, unlike me. "They almost killed you, Legolas."

"And Thranduil, yes." The prince inclined his head in even accordance.

"They betrayed your race, spied for Sauron, the most horrible and dark of all evils." I continued in a detached voice, barely realizing what I was saying. "And I am their flesh and blood."

Legolas gazed at me. "One cannot alter the past, Jevryn, but there is hope in the future."

I blinked, forcing myself to focus. "Yes..."

His stare was riveting, and I found myself trapped, returning his gaze silently. "I understand a betrayal of this magnitude will not be resolved over the course of weeks, perhaps years, but know this; your anger will only come between you and the end of your suffering."

I averted my eyes away from the intensity of his expression and spoke, voice flat. "I will try." Still avoiding looking directly at the prince, I began walking back. I could not bring myself to promise my success; he did not have enough of my trust. I did not know if he was being sincere.

As I headed back to the fire, I noticed the conversation had left me light-headed, like I was walking in a dream. It had felt surreal; someone forgave me, pardoned me. Not as if I had been begging for someone to relieve me of my- for lack of a better word -guilt, but it was unexpectedly soothing.

Nevertheless, I was not partial to being reminded of my parents, the first murderers of Elven-kind. I felt an uncomfortable prickling of memories I had tried so hard to forget and a simmering fury begin to grow within me, obliterating the peace Legolas had given me. Those hateful elves destroyed my life when it had barely begun, I did not stand a chance against the cruelty of the world...

A hand touched my shoulder and my head snapped around, nearly straining my neck, with a threat ready on my tongue. Legolas was standing at my side quietly. Once again, I could not look into his piercing eyes for more than a few heartbeats. The farseeing, bright irises told me more about myself than I cared to know.

My anger drained away, much to my resentment. I did not like him having this power over me. Oblivious to my bitter thoughts, Legolas smiled faintly, the expression warming his intent stare, and moved past me, calling out; "Mithrandir, we have returned."

"Talked some sense into that one have you? I'd watch out for her, she's sharper than half your kind." Gandalf nodded, his pipe bobbing in his mouth, smoke billowing out of it haphazardly.

I smirked to myself and settled down against the sloping trunk of the lone tree.

Legolas remained standing, his eyes fixed on the wizard and his pet goat.

"I assume you know of the Heseköl, Mithrandir."

"Know of them? I was among the first to recognize their presence in Middle Earth, and more specifically and certainly more importantly, their threat to the elves." Gandalf chewed on the stem of his pipe thoughtfully.

"They are real, then?" I inquired, not enthusiastic to display my ignorance, but I wanted answers.

"Real? Yes. Natural, I should say not." Gandalf absent-mindedly ran a hand down the goat's silky back, to which Derce bleated indignantly and butted the old man's hand with his budding horns. The wizard glanced down, but otherwise didn't react. "It's my opinion that they were forged by Sauron." The very name chilled the air, naming a horror that was often best left forgotten.

"For the sole purpose of killing the elves?" I questioned further, my spine shivering.

"That we are unsure of, but on the whole, we believe so." Gandalf looked at me from under bushy eyebrows. "As I'm sure Legolas told you, their original whereabouts are unknown, but the entirety of Middle Earth has been searched to no end." He checked himself. "Well, being searched as we speak."

"I assume you were searching yourself." I didn't need to ask (how else would a wizard meet a talking goat if not on some sort of journey?), but it was rather amusing to speak with the wizard.

"Yes. Then I came across Derce and decided I would help him."

I looked at the disagreeable goat in mocking mirth. "Indeed." He snorted toward me and pawed at the earth aggressively.

"I have heard speculations from Lothlorïen that the touch of the Heseköl renders a being helpless." Legolas spoke up. "Is this true?"

"To pure souls, the Heseköl's touch can do terrible things, yes." Gandalf affirmed. He tipped his head back, looking at the stars, then glanced back at us, blue eyes twinkling in a mischievous manner that I was not sure I liked. "I believe that is enough questions for tonight. You both will need your rest if you wish to accompany Derce and I tomorrow."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: I have a question for you, reader. I assume you at least know of Legolas (or he is absolutely your favorite LotR character and is the only reason you're reading this fic, hey, either one), so I ask you avid Legolas fans this: What's your opinion on his character here? C'mon, who doesn't want to talk about Orlando Bloom wrapped up in a blond wig? :) **

Unfortunately, when the grey wizard said something, there was no objecting- to him or Legolas, who was set on gaining Gandalf's approval.

I glanced at the lean elf from the shelter of my hood. He was conversing with Derce up ahead, who was quite pleased to find someone complain to.

Gandalf himself was at the head of our little party, clearing a path with his staff, which doubled as a walking stick. All right, perhaps he wasn't that infatuated with the wizard, but that did not change the fact we were currently off on a tangent to help a talking goat regain his body.

The tale of how this peculiar event occurred had been relayed by Gandalf in the wee hours of the morning. The wizard's unfailingly upbeat tone accompanied with his aging voice did nothing to help my agitation, instead grating on my nerves incessantly.

Derce was apparently working under his master in the fields when he decided to fetch water to quench his thirst from laboring under the scorching sun. He did not seem like the most dedicated of workers to me, but it was of no matter at this point.

The only source of water this far away from the farm was a stream over the hill, which I gathered Derce was too lazy to walk to, although his excuse was that the river was known to be cursed by spirits from the time of Sauron. He toiled for ages until his need for water was unbearable, so he gathered his remaining reserves of strength and hauled his miserable skin over to the river and drank. Suddenly, he had assumed this form.

An unimpressive and suspiciously vague story. If every river was like that one, I'd of been a goat a hundred times over.

But the lies of farmers aside, I could not help but fret over my own predicament. The legacy of my parents that I now knew clung to me even so far away from the forests of my homeland. The constricting resentment that had been with me ever since I shunned the people I once called my brethren tightened its already choking hold on my heart. It was not my fault.

Mocking whispers echoed inside my head, taunting me with impish glee. "Murderer. Betrayer. The darkness of Sauron shadows your soul, Haldaer."

"Quinn did not think so," I muttered hotly, "And more importantly _I_ do not think so. Your twisted convictions are hardly more than the fantasies of a child."

Feeling the scrutinization of a certain upstart elf burning into my hood, I glanced up. Legolas was innocently watching Derce rant on, tossing his horned head to emphases a point.

The prince's casualty did not deceive me for an instant; his keen ears were capable of hearing a bird whistle a mile off. Unimpressed, I looked away.

A flicker of blue caught my attention again. Legolas held my gaze with that eerily perceptive expression he seemed to favor.

I narrowed my eyes at him hostilely, hardly in the mood to act considerate and he looked back at Derce.

Having nothing else to occupy myself with other than my dismal, circling thoughts , I trained my own sharp hearing on Derce's whining. "...we visited Radagast the Brown near Rivendell, but to no avail. He didn't have the remedy for this, the mad oaf. He was chasing a rabid rat after we departed, insisting that it calm down so he could properly treat it."

Rivendell. In my mind's eye, I saw the picturesque scene of the Elven city. I had visited twice, both times to meet with my mother's relatives. She had made it clear that she was only making the journey to keep up appearances of kinship, and that did not make me enthusiastic about accompanying her.

Mentally shying away from the memory with a momentary flash of anger, I focused on the newfound problem in my life; the Heseköl. My belief in these fantastical creatures hung by a fraying thread, but it was becoming more apparent that the elves were in some sort of danger, due to the way their prince was acting.

I hadn't been close to any of the elves back in Eryn Lasgalen, especially not Legolas, but nor was I blind. Before the skirmish with the wargs, I could sense his waning tolerance for me; the doubts that were growing in his mind. He had wanted the best for his people and obviously, I wasn't it. Simultaneously, he was willing to try anything that might save the elves, and I just happened to be an option. And yet after the wargs, he seemed so focused, intent on... something. So intent that the sins of my past actions held no meaning for him anymore. What it was, I did not know.

Something about my analysis did not feel right. _Was I missing something_? My jaw clenched uneasily. The same feeling from the fight with the wargs burned steadily underneath the turmoil of emotions writhing in my heart, like the grasping roots of a plant, holding the whole mess together. The pure confidence that the future was secure and that I could not stray from the path it was pulling me down. Helplessness gripped me, and, in a futile attempt to shake off the unnerving emotion, I latched on the first thing that I thought of; the prince, hoping the mystery of his new intensity would distract me.

Engrossed in my thoughts, I barely heard when Gandalf called for a rest, swerving off the path to a small, muddy pool fed by a trickling stream.

Brushing away leaves, I stepped through the bushes and settled into a crouch at the water's edge, staring into the cloudy reflection it provided.

A somber face, shadowed by a sable hood, stared back at me, crimson dried blood staining her neck. Dark eyes glared into the water and a quiver and bow stuck up over her shoulder. She looked... hard. Fierce. Unyielding.

Yes, that was me, there was no denying it. I brought my hands forward, gently splashing water over my face, rippling the surface of the pond and disturbing the image.

There was still a certain amount of disquiet in me. I looked over at Legolas, who was filling a canteen by himself, his hair spilling over his shoulder and almost touching the water.

"Legolas." I uttered, trying to exude as much confidence as I could with the name.  
He looked up inquisitively, lifting the bottle from the pond, dripping water slowly from the brim.

I was struck with a sudden muteness, as I realized I did not know what I was going to say to him. I was merely seeking companionship, which I had done often in my younger years with Quinn when he was still alive. When I was feeling restless and uncertain, we would talk for hours until I was reassured. Mostly about battle tactics and other topics that I was at home discussing.

But that was only for the beginning as my life as an outcast. I did not have the faintest idea why I abruptly appealed to an Elven prince for assurance.

I cast my gaze away, disgust boiling in me at the very concept. "Never mind. I lost the thought."

Legolas rose, recapping the canteen with a swift twist. "If you wish."

I glanced at him sharply, but detected no sarcasm in the statement, just smooth courtesy. Then I remembered with a flicker of amusement that elves were foreign to sarcasm and turned away.

"Well, this seems like a fair place to rest for a while." Gandalf was sitting on a bulky rock near the trees, his staff leaning next to him. Derce had folded his limber legs neatly next to the pool and looked to be relaxing.

Legolas was standing quietly, his back to the rest of us as he observed the sky, his thoughts his own. I did note that his cloak was missing and wondered how he'd lost it.

I scooped up a handful of water and sipped it, making the most of the time off the road.

"Legolas, Jevryn, come over for a moment, if you will." Gandalf beckoned us, probably about to dispense some life-saving wisdom.

I walked over to the old man and stood before him; Legolas did the same, a strong presence at my shoulder.

The wizard eyed us both with his timeless blue eyes. "I know that one of you is questioning her involvement in this quest, and is, perhaps, thinking it is a bit useless?"

"You dragged me out here without one word of explanation. Yes, I am questioning my involvement, as you say." The words flew out of me, as harsh and as biting as winter sleet.

Gandalf nodded sagely. "Understandable and not entirely unsurprising. And as for you, Legolas?" I gritted my teeth and chose not to retort.

The prince answered. "I feel the luxury of choosing my own path is beyond my reach."

Irritation sparked in me, as if his words his words had ignited a flame in me. "The noble prince of Greenwood, sacrificing himself."

Legolas glanced at me and I met his gaze boldly, daring him to reply. "Come with me please." He turned around, his boot steps inaudible on the springy grass, and walked to the opposite edge of the pool.

Feeling as if I was a child being taken out of the room to be scolded, I followed, facing him with a impudent jerk of my chin. "Yes, your majesty?" Ah, maybe that remark was a bit too snide, but it was sitting there, far too perfectly, waiting for me to use it.

The muscles in Legolas' jaw tightened and his azure eyes glared down at me with a different kind of intensity than he had been looking at me with, this type was more fiery, and certainly more threatening. He spoke in low, rapid Sindarin. "You have made it clear that I am not your prince. But you cannot deny that you felt something in that battle, something that cannot be simply forgotten. Why do you continue this... pretense?"

"I do not have to answer to you." I growled, also in Sindarin.

"Then what occurred last night?" Legolas held up an arm, as if to gesture into the past. "We are not fond of each other, that much is clear, and yet you acted as such." His arm fell to his side and his eyes glittered.

"I lost control." I snapped off the words bitterly. "It was a mishap." I recalled the way he'd rid me of my anger with a simple touch and pushed it out of my mind, cursing myself silently. "I care nothing for you."

"Were the orcs a mishap, Jevryn?" His eyes bore into mine. "There is a reason I feel that I no longer possess control over my own life and I believe you feel it as well. That emotion, that sense that was given to us is no mere incident. We must pursue it."

"Must we?" This time, my voice- and my resolve -quavered. The calling was too overpowering too resist and I knew it.

Legolas' gaze flickered over my face, revealing nothing except growing anger. "Yes. You know this. It is no longer enough for you to exist in this world. You must act."

"I have seen a hundred people die without leaving a single mark upon the world around them! What sets me apart?" I snarled.

"Understand this." Legolas took a imposing step forward. "You are an elf, Jevryn. And yet you are not."

I let out a slightly hysterical laugh, tilting my head back to keep staring at him incredulously. "Yes, indeed."

"Listen. The Heseköl is the enemy of the elves and the elves alone. We are the only ones with the strength to fight this horror. And we are of pure souls and pure hearts. Yet you are not."

That stung more than I wanted to admit and I inwardly cringed. Then I reminded myself that I had no choice to be who I was- and that was the dark-souled elf. Yet, I could not summon any words through the sharp, sudden hurt, and just looked up at Legolas passively.

His voice gentled and I recognized the compassion in his eyes, the same that was in Quinn's. The frustrated wildfire that had been raging a moment ago began dwindling. "Yes, that was our doing. And it has changed you. No one has the authority to dictate if it has improved or degraded you, but nevertheless, it was the life given to you."

I drew a shuddering breath as his words hit home with their usual perceptiveness, but vowed ferociously to maintain my composure. "And you believe that it is my destiny to wage war against these Heseköl."

"Yes. I do." He raised his head assertively. "As is mine."

I had to repeat the question, perhaps he'd heard it wrong. "You believe it is the will of the Valar for me and you, a prince, to unite and defeat the Heseköl?"

"It must be done." One of his hands gripped the knife at his belt. "And the title of prince is never one I'd formally adopted." He saw my disbelief and shook his head slightly. "I will lead my people, but on the whole, I prefer fighting at their sides."

"Then I hope you will hold onto that belief, because I do not intend on being commanded on this quest." I shot back, allowing cautious amusement to seep into my tone.

A smile lighted Legolas' face. "I would never think of it, my lady." The words were entirely sincere, not a hint of irony. Well, he had a lot to learn, having been around stone-faced individuals- namely Tauriel and Thranduil -his whole life.

Deciding I was done being civil for one afternoon, I strode past him, back over to Gandalf with a thoroughly lighter mood.

"Are we all going forward, then?" Gandalf inquired me in Elvish, and I gave him a short nod, and answered in kind.

"Yes." I gave the goat a look. "However, I am still unclear on how we intend to free him."

Legolas' arm brushed against mine, announcing his presence silently and I glanced over at him, unsettled by the familiar gesture, before turning my full attention to Gandalf.

The wizard rose, surveying us thoughtfully and completing ignoring my comment. "There is more to you two than what meets the eye." He circled us, leaning heavily on his staff. "Particularly the skill in which Legolas soothes your temper, Haldaer." His eyes sparkled.

I did not want to discuss that. "Continue."

"Ah, of course. You both are trained warriors, but possess different styles of fighting. Legolas, am I correct in saying you favor your bow?"

The prince nodded, his eyes fixed on the wizard.

"And Jevryn, your skill is in the sword. Together, you could be a formidable fighting force. We just need to perfect your tactics. Come, draw your weapons, both of you."

We practiced until dusk, sparring and going over different situations, each more unlikely than the last as Gandalf wanted to prepare us for anything.

Then we slept until dawn and resumed trekking to our unknown destination that the Grey Wizard would not reveal.

Legolas and me remained civil as I came to understand that his familiarity was his way of showing loyalty to a quest mate. He gradually earned my respect- authentic respect, not some fake, forced emotion brought on by a single battle. Albeit there were some times when his attitude irked me, but I was quick to let him know he needed to keep his ego in check. In the whole, he made a good companion, one that I was surprised to like having at my side.

We were now embarked on a journey to bring a goat back to humanity. An elf-prince, a wizard and me. Fate had a strange taste, indeed.

I almost began to forget the days when I wished him dead, but never would I forget what his people had done to me. That was too much to forgive in the face of mere courtesy.


End file.
